


Every New Beginning

by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Captain Swan - Freeform, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Random - Freeform, collection, everything in between
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 74
Words: 35,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of random drabbles and ficlets, often speculation based on spoilers, generally Captain Swan but may feature other pairings or characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published in August 2015 after the picture of Captain Swan on a horse came out.

_ _

It felt as if they had been riding for days, though it had only been a handful of hours since they’d left the Island of Avalon.  The walls of Camelot were visible in the distance, a heartening sight after so long a journey.

She was exhausted, they both were.  The final steps to remove the darkness had taken a toll on her, both emotionally and physically.  She had no energy to sit up anymore.  She wrapped her arms tightly around her pirate - no, her saviour now - and rested her head against his shoulder and sighed.

“Almost there, love,” he said, and she could feel the gentle vibrations of his words resonating through his back.  “Your parents will be glad to see you.”

She hummed in response, her eyes closing on their own as the soothing rhythm of the horse’s movements threatened to put her completely to sleep.

He turned his head, glancing back at her golden hair.  Her white dress, pure white, was flowing gracefully in the wind.  After everything they had been through, it was over, finally over.  She was pure again, the evil purged, her white magic restored.  He was sorely tempted to stop their ride, to rest in the meadow they were passing through, to just _be -_  with her, his Emma, his love.  But everyone was waiting at the castle.

“Hold on, love,” he murmured.  “Just hold on.”

She whispered back, her voice barely audible over the sound of air rushing past them.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title for this collection comes from the line in "Closing Time" by Semisonic - "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end" - thought to be attributed originally to Seneca the Younger.


	2. Find Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted after reports of Killian filming with Regina came out, coupled with Emma filming with his ring.  My own speculation at the time.

The wind whispered past gently, sending lines of ripples cascading over the water.  They watched as the darkened boat almost hovered on the water as it drifted closer, a hooded figure standing at the helm.  

“You don’t need to do this alone you know,” she said, her tone almost gentle, a far cry from her usual biting cynicism.

“I’m not alone,” he replied.  “You’re here.”

“You know I meant her.”

He was silent, eyes trained on the approaching vessel.  

After a moment, he turned to her, his eyes shining a brightly in the night.  

“I once said I’d go to the ends of the earth for her,” he said with a sharp, hollow laugh.  “I never imagined it would be without her.”  He looked back over the water.  “Tell her,” he paused, voice thick with emotion. “Tell her….”

He looked down, swallowing hard.

Another moment.  She waited.  The boat was nearly at the dock.

He raised his head, eyes meeting hers, a fierceness burning in his gaze.

“Tell her I couldn’t bear to be another person who let her down.  Tell her it was the only way.”

He lifted his hand to his mouth, slipping off a ring from one of his fingers, and clenched it tightly in his fist.  He reached out to her as she opened her hand to take the ring.  He closed her fingers around it, squeezing her hand tightly in his.  She could feel him trembling, hand shaking from either fear or grief, she wasn’t sure which.

“Tell her it’s her turn to find me now.”

He turned and stepped onto the boat that was now silently waiting beside the dock.  Regina held tightly to the ring in her hand as she watched the boat drift away, two dark figures now illuminated against the moonlight.  He never looked back.


	3. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From filming spoilers of Emma's burned car.

She reached out slowly, tentatively, gently touching the charred hood.

It was wrong, all wrong.  Everything was falling apart.

He’s gone.

The one constant in her life burned beyond repair.

The town falling apart.

And he’s gone.

She didn’t cry when they came for him, staying strong for him, for herself.  She didn’t cry in the hours afterward, staying strong for her family, for her son.  She sure as hell wasn’t going to lose it because of a car.

She softly stroked the blackened yellow, remembering how he stood there just weeks before, waiting for the courage to summon her.

_Come back to me._

But he doesn’t.

He’s gone.

She let the tears come, the ruined bug her only witness.


	4. Just Like Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written before 5x08 aired, thoughts on why Zelena and Hook were filming in Emma's house.

Something’s wrong.

She feels it, deep down, in that place without words, without understanding, that place of knowing.   _Where is he?_

Her eyes closed, she concentrates on him, on his heart, his pulse, his life, _his love_ , and there, just over there - 

The woods.  It’s dark.  He’s unarmed, unprotected, save the hooked metal attachment ever present on his arm.  But he’s not alone.  She sees, hears, feels, the anger of the other man, the man clad in metal, the man filled with fear, insanity, and hate, the man with a sword other than his.

She can sense the fight, the unfair battle, between the two men.  The man, _her_  man, is hit, a glancing blow.  He falls, blood on his temple, as he scrambles back, pleading with the deranged king for mercy.  The man of fury, the boy who would be king, raises the sword he doesn’t want and drives it into hi-

“No!”  She reacts, appearing where they are, pulling out her new weapon and running toward the one coated in armour.  Her pirate is on the ground, still, so still, a sword in his chest.

“It’s too late,” rasps the broken king, his smile calm, gaze brimming with satisfaction.  He yanks out the sword from the other man, who groans but doesn’t move.  

 _Alive, for how long?_  

They fight, swords clashing in the night, one from anger from the broken promises of his prophecy that never came, the other from the broken heart she thought would never hurt again.  He rushes at her, but her magic is faster, and soon he is gone, banished to a locked closet with no air.  She’ll deal with him later.

“Emma,” she hears, and turns to the pirate, _her_ pirate _._ She kneels beside him, fighting back the tears.  The wound is deep, the blood welling up between his fingers.  Too much, it’s too much.  She can’t lose him, not again, not like this, not when she’s so close to-

She knows what to do. 

A wave of her hand brings them to her house, the white picket fence outside glowing eerily in the moonlight.  He’s quiet, so still, lying in her arms on the floor.  Another motion brings the witch, who finally agrees to the terms.  One spell, and she’ll be protected against her sister.  One deal, to save him, to save _them_.

The sword is laid out, the wand waved, the magic glows green and then calms.  Everything is silent.  She helps him to his feet, his hand still at the wound that isn’t there.

“What the hell is happening?” he whispers hoarsely, looking at her and the witch.  He used to look at her with love, with tenderness, with _promise._   Now his eyes hold only fear.  She feels the magic coursing through him now as well, she feels what he is becoming, something old, something dark, something familiar.  She turns back, lifting the sword so he can see his name etched alongside hers.

“You’re free,” she replies.  “Just like me.”


	5. Come Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speculation from certain preview pictures for 5x08 ("Birth").

Locked it battle, she almost doesn’t see the flash of red and black behind the sorceror.  So intent on saving her mother from the enthralled magician, she almost didn’t notice how Killian rushed forward, saving her family the only way he could.  As he leaped in front of Snow, she couldn’t hold back her scream.   _A pair of handcuffs dangled from his wrist.  “Pirate”._

“NO!”

The blast of magic flew from Merlin’s outstretched fingers and crashed into him as he gasped, frozen in place, sparks of blue light spreading from his chest outward.  His body convulsed, his face a mask of pain as the deadly spell washed over him.  And then he fell, almost gracefully, slipping onto the leaf-covered ground, utterly silent and still.   _Not again._

“NO!”

She struggled to her feet, anger coursing through her now.  She would not fail, she couldn’t, not now.  She could feel the magic building, a swirling vortex of dark and light.  She couldn’t tell where Emma’s magic ended and the Dark One’s began, not anymore.  She didn’t care.  The image of her pirate lying on the cobblestones, a knife wound in his back, overlapped with the scene in front of her, pushing her anger to a new level.   _I can’t lose you, too._

“You do not win, Arthur!” she shouted.  “Not today, not ever!”  She lowered her arms toward Merlin.  She saw the sorceror’s face, his eyes calm, as he nodded to her.  He knew. 

The magic left her body in a rush and hit the ancient magician.  A bright flash of light, and he was gone.  She didn’t know where, she didn’t care.  She waved her hand, transporting Arthur and Zelena somewhere back in Camelot, out of the way.  Excalibur she kept, it’s weight heavy in her hand, as Merlin’s name slowly swirled and vanished from the blade.   _Leave Excalibur alone._

She crouched over Killian, touched his face.  So cold.  Too cold.  She couldn’t save him here, not with everyone around, not after what she just did to Merlin.  Another wave, and they were alone, familiar flowers dotting the meadow around them.  His eyes stayed close, he took no breaths.   _I’m a survivor._

She raised the sword over him, hoping it would be enough.

“Come back to me,” she whispered.  “Come home.”


	6. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My thoughts after seeing the promo for 5x08 ("Birth").

He falls back against the wall with a gasp, clutching his chest, his heart, trying to slow his racing pulse.

“What the hell is happening?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

She says nothing, just waits, watches.  Her words from earlier race through his mind.   _I’m doing it for you._

He knows.  He feels the power coursing through him.  He’s never had magic, never wanted it, never needed it, but he knows what it is.  He feels it in his skin, his muscles, his bones.  His blood sings with the raw energy that he now possesses.  

The witch finishes her spell, she smirks, and vanishes in a puff of green.

 _I love you, no matter what you’ve done._

He falls to his knees.  The power feels black, oily, _wrong_.  Darkness.  This is darkness.

Not this.   _No no no n_ - 

He retches, bringing up everything he’s eaten the last few hours on the gleaming new floor.  He’s sweating, the wetness dripping down the back of his neck, cold.

She sits beside him.  He senses her there, but he can’t look, can’t see.

“Killian, it was the only way.”  Her voice is gentle, but it’s still not hers.  Not Emma’s.

He opens his eyes, wetness blurring her face.  

He tries to speak, swallows, looks down.  “I’ve spent my life,” he rasps, “trying to kill this darkness.”  He lifts his head, a tear running down his cheek.  “I can’t become the Dark One.”

“You’re not.”  Her voice is calm, cool, detached, but he can feel something warm beneath her words, just under the surface.

“We are.”


	7. Lies and Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speculation after seeing the promo for 5x10 ("Broken Heart"). Title comes from the line Rumplestiltskin delivered with creepy sincerity, "Dark One lies, Dark One tricks."

He could feel it in his gut, the regret, the pain.  He knew what he was doing was hurting her.  He could barely stand to look her in the eye.  A tear tracked its way down her cheek, and he almost lost his will.   _It’s the only way, the only way she won’t hurt anyone else._

“I want to hurt you,” he rasped, voice as low as hers, measured, without emotion.  He bit back his own scream, he can’t hurt her now, but he must.  “Like you hurt me.”   _Don’t, Emma.  Don’t love me._

“I can save you, Killian,” she begged, voice breaking into Emma’s.   _“_ I can save both of us.”   _Please, don’t cry my love._

He looked away, hoping she wouldn’t see the tears welling in his own eyes.  “It’s too late.  I’m quite enjoying this now, Swan.”  He carefully fit the empty smirk back on his face and turned back to her.  “Now let’s have some fun.”   _Hate me.  Hate me so you won’t miss me. _Hate me, so I can do what must be done.__

He grasped the sword in his hand, ready to swirl away in the grey cloud that now accompanied him.  He looked at her one more time, one last time.   _You have to let me go._

As the smoke rose around him, he let his mask slip, just for a moment.  

_Goodbye._


	8. Home or Something Like It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written just after the episode 5x10, a companion piece to Find a Way, but can be separate.

They've been back a week, a week that feels more like a year. Darkness vanquished, Killian rescued, everything back to normal. A new normal, but they're back.

He stays in her - no, their, house, moving his things slowly from the Jolly. She doesn't push, she knows he needs his space, time to be comfortable with everything, with them, their new lives.

He says he forgives her, she knows he understands why she had to do it, to kill him, to save him, but she can't stop wondering how much he really means it. If her biggest mistake was keeping him, she'd gladly do it all over again. But it hurt, to see the pain and distrust in his eyes. It hurt, when he didn't feel the same as she did. It hurt, when he turned dark without a moment's hesitation. She brought him back to be with him, but during those days, she never felt so alone.

His sacrifice nearly killed her. She knew it was the only way, and she knew she couldn't fight it. So she let him go, this time. But not without a vow to get him back, as a hero this time. The trip to retrieve him was harrowing, but her family's support meant more than she could ever acknowledge. They came for her, yes, but also for him. He was as much a part of them as she was, and she still smiled thinking about it. Reunited, to bring back their friend, her love, family.

And now they're back. The house so large it didn't quite feel like home, not yet. He stays with her, they both don't want to be apart for too long, afraid to lose each other again. They find comfort in little touches, holding hands, smiles across a room, but it's not the same as before, and maybe it won't ever be.

He has nightmares. His memories of dying three times in a space of a couple of months haunt him at nights. His eyes are rimmed with a darkness that his smiles can't quite chase away. She tries to be there for him, to hold him as he wakes gasping and shaking in the dark, whispering quiet words to let him know she's close. He holds her tight, only able to sleep again with his head resting against hers, fingers entwined, breath mingling in the space between them. He doesn't talk about it, can't talk about it, but she's there, for when he will.

She thinks of his collapse in Camelot at times, at the choices she made that started them on the hardest journey of their lives, she sees him just before running him through with Excalibur, and the weight of him as he fell against her afterward, and sometimes she can't remember how to breathe for a moment. He's always close enough to know, to grasp her hand and pull her closer. He tells her he loves her, he'll always love her, and she knows he's telling the truth.

The past will always be there, their mistakes always a part of their history. The future they talked about in Camelot was idyllic, unsoiled by the darkness of their choices, pure. That future isn't theirs, not anymore. But maybe, with time, and love, they can build a new future, together.


	9. The Trick Where I Get My Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still would like to firmly believe that Hook was playing them all along, but canon wants me to believe otherwise. Well, this was written just before the midseason finale. I can still dream, right?

He did it.  He’d convinced them all. 

“That man died back in Camelot.”

He heard, his magic carrying her words to him as if she was beside him.  Magic.  Something he never thought he’d wield.

Not for much longer.

It hadn’t been easy.  Emma knew when he was lying, he had to be creative in his choice of words.   He’d prepared himself before coming in, he thought he was ready to face her, but he would never be ready to hurt her like that.  His heart was breaking, to say such things to her, to watch her fall apart in front of him.  

But it worked.  She believed he was gone, that only the darkness remained.  His plan worked.

Facing Rumplestiltskin had been easier.  He knew the man before him was no longer the same man who killed Milah, but after centuries of wearing the same face, it was hard to separate them.  And now that the royals remembered what he’d done to Merlin, he knew they were convinced as well. 

It was almost over.

He’d spent centuries chasing after the dark curse that killed his love.  Years mired in revenge, plotting, lying and double-crossing his way across the realms.  Killing the Dark One wouldn’t bring her back, he knew that.  But the score needed settling.

Now, now it was all different.  He was a part of this in a way he’d never anticipated.  And he knew now how the curse could be ended, forever.  

He won’t have to watch the person he loved die again.  He won’t have to let the darkness take her away.  This time, he can save her.  She’ll live, free from the Dark One.

The cost is his own life.  It’s a price he’s willing to pay, for her.  She’d saved him long ago, helped him become something he never dreamed he could be.  

It was almost over.  And now he knew she would do whatever it takes to end it.   _I have yet to see you fail._

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he whispered in the night.  


	10. The Man I Want You To Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out about an hour after the midseason finale, 5x11 ("Swan Song") because I was a mess and wanted to share the pain.

The blade cuts through him, a fire that erupts inside him.  He tries to hold back the cry of pain, but it’s too much, it hurts.  He staggers.

She rushes forward, grabbing him before he falls.  He struggles to stand, to stay upright, to hold her, because she needs him just as much as he needs her.  His strength fading, he forces his arm up to touch her face one last time.  He can’t speak, he can’t breathe, but he needs to remember her, to remember this. 

A burst of light in front of him, and she’s here, she’s _Emma_ , her golden hair glistening in the pale moonlight.  His head feels so heavy, pressed against hers, a feeling he desperately memorizes.  He tries to pull in a breath, his fingers grasping at her soft hair, remembering everything.  

She pulls out the sword, he doesn’t think he can last much longer, the pain overtaking his senses.  He needs more time, more of her.  His neck hurts, and he knows the wound that started all of this is back.  

She grasps his neck, his back, but it’s too late.  He can’t stand any longer, he has no strength.  He feels himself falling as if far away, hears her sobs as tears squeeze from the corners of his own eyes.  He’s on the ground, he can’t move, and she’s here, she’s everywhere.  He wants to hold her, to comfort her, to kiss her, but he can’t, he knows it’s too late.

“Killian,” she whispers, her voice in his ears and miles away at the same time.

 _Killian_. The man he always wanted to be, for her, forever.  He smiles, but his mouth never moves.

A moment, and he knows no more.


	11. Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days after 5x11 ("Swan Song") and I was still reeling from the emotions in that episode. So this happened. I'd probably apologise if I had a soul.

She remembers, every moment, every expression, every movement.

His jaw, clenching hard, willing himself to do what he should, what he knew was right.

His hand, shaking, as she takes the sword, wanting to hold her longer.

His kiss, as he poured every ounce of love into her, memorizing every taste, every breath, every touch, everything.

His tears, threatening to spill over, to undo his resolve right then and there.

His smile, as he tried to calm her fears, to let her know it’s alright.

His whispered, “it’s ok”, as she grasped the sword, readying herself to do the unthinkable.

His eyes, as they harden into determination, to convince himself it’s alright.

His face, as he steels himself for the bite of the blade, willing his expression not to betray the utter terror he’s feeling inside.

His cry, as she drives Excalibur through him, pain and magic taking his breath, his life.

His legs, trembling, almost unable to support him, yet he stands, for her, a strength he didn’t knew he had.

His fingers, delicately touching her face, stroking her hair, her neck, her tears, wishing he could wipe them away.

His neck, the wound from Camelot opening anew, the pain making him gasp in air his body doesn’t need anymore.

His weight, as he falls into her, his life and strength ebbing together.

His warmth, fading the longer she holds him, oblivious to everything around her.

His smell, lingering, teasing, taunting, mixing forever with the metalic bite of blood.

His body, still and quiet, as he’s ripped away from her.

She remembers everything.


	12. Con Artists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lenfaz asked for Captain Swan + con artists

“Are you sure that’s the car, love?  Two behind us?” he asked, concentrating on the road in front.

“Yes,” she bit back.  “And I’ve told you a million times, stop calling me ‘love’.”

He winked.  “You know you like it, Swan.  Admit it.”  She just rolled her eyes and said nothing.  Truth was, she was impressed with his ideas in general, and specifically now, how he managed to keep one car “trapped” between themselves and the mark, the local Senator’s son.  His flair for the dramatic was the reason she signed up with him in the first place.  And the size of her cut, of course.

“Look, let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be,” she sighed.  “We just need to get them into the mechanic so we can drop the tracker and get out.  It’s about getting close to them, not each other, ok?”

In response, he slammed on the brakes and, if not for her seatbelt, she would have flown headfirst through the windshield.  She cursed softly as her hands caught on the dashboard.

But it worked - the tires of the white SUV behind them squealed on the wet asphalt as the driver tried to avoid the impending collision, and they heard the resounding “crunch” of the Senator’s car hitting the SUV.

Leaving the wreck behind, Killian sped off around the corner, a grin plastered across his face.

“Then let’s go make some money.”  Almost as an afterthought, his eyes twinkling mischievously, he added softly, “love.”


	13. Slippers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seethelovelyintheworld asked for Captain Swan + slippers

“Just how many pairs of shoes do you own, Emma?” Killian asked with a sigh.  They were - finally - unpacking, moving their things slowly into their new apartment.

“It’s not that many!  You should see Ruby’s closet.”  

Emma pulled another sweater from the box.  She really did have a lot of clothes, she realized, at least compared to what she’d owned at other stages in her life.  Without realizing it, she found herself going shopping more often, an activity that she usually only performed out of necessity and now was a relaxing day spent with friends.

“What the bloody hell are these?” she heard from the closet.  She turned, and laughed.  Killian was holding up a ridiculously pink pair of bunny slippers - a gift from her mom last winter.

“They’re called slippers,” she said, walking over to him.  “You wear them when it’s cold and you don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“What’s wrong with socks?” he asked, honestly perplexed by the two balls of fluff he held in his hand.

She shrugged.  “Nothing.  But they’re much cozier.  You need to try them on to understand.”

He gave her a look, eyebrow arched, his face so puzzled she almost started laughing.  “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

He settled into the bed and slipped the furry bunnies on his bare feet.  He stood slowly, as if afraid to hurt the cartoon rabbits as he walked.

This time, Emma couldn’t hold back, the sight of Captain Hook walking around their bedroom wearing pink bunny slippers was just too much.  She laughed, giggles pouring from her mouth as she watched him.

“What’s wrong?  Am I wearing them wrong?” he asked, worry on his face.

She collapsed into his arms, still laughing.  “No,” she managed after a moment.  “You’re doing fine.  Just, uh, doesn’t really match the hook.”

He grinned, looking down at his pink covered feet.  She could see the bunnies bouncing a bit, no doubt he was wiggling his toes beneath the fluff.

“I think I like these slippers,” he said.  He kissed her forehead and moved back to the closet.  She giggled again, and this time he winked as he pulled out a pair of boots from a box.

“Yes, I’ll keep these, Swan,” he said, broad smile still in place.  “One less pair for you, I’m afraid.”

The sweater she tossed hit him squarely in his cheeky grin.


	14. TV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annytecture asked for Captain Swan + TV

“Dammit!  Why can’t you just _work_!?”

Emma tossed the remote onto the table in frustration, partly hoping the blasted thing shattered into a million pieces.  She’d just had the WORST day in a long time; everything that could go wrong did.  She just wanted to sit and watch TV for a bit, to relax and forget about how close she got to strangling Leroy today, was that too much to ask?

“Everything ok, love?” Killian asked, stepping cautiously into the room.  She’d seemed miserable upon returning home a few minutes ago, and he knew better than to try and approach her in this agitated state.  Give her space, he knew, and she’ll be fine, eventually.

Emma pouted on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, feeling childish but refusing to relax anyway.  “No,” she grumped.  “Stupid remote won’t work.”

He settled gently on the coffee table and picked up the remote.  “Here, let me help.”  He turned it over in his hands a few times, pressing a few of the buttons probably far gentler than she had just moments before.  Nothing happened.  

“How are you going to help?  You just found out what one of those are a few months ago.”  She was in a bitter mood and she’d probably regret taking it out on him later, but at the moment she just didn’t care.

“Sometimes,” he said, as he slipped off the battery cover, “you just need to step back,” he popped out the AAs and spun them around, “and take a deep breath,” he positioned them back into the remote, “and try again.”  He closed the back and pushed the power button.

The TV sprang to life.

Emma wanted to stay angry, but found her mood slowly dissolving as he smiled, handing her the remote.

“Thanks,” she grumbled.

Killian got up from the table.  “Anytime, love,” he said, heading toward the door.  “I’m making grilled cheese, do you want some?” he asked, still in the doorway.

She nodded.  “Please,” she forced out, really grateful for the offer though still not in the mood to accept his gentle kindness.

He smiled again.  “As you wish,” he murmured, leaving her to her relaxation.

She settled back and turned her attention on the glowing TV in front of her, finally settling on an episode of Parks and Recreation, something to distract her from her terrible morning.  

But somehow, the sounds of him moving around in the kitchen was far more calming.


	15. Tick Tock, Pirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should be sleeping. I really should be sleeping. But I have thoughts, so I share. Angsty speculation based on the last episode, the promo, and how heroic Killian Jones really is. Started off as a 75 word ficlet and kind of got much longer than I intended. Sorry?

 

“I won’t do it,” he grunted, agony lacing each sound from his bloodied lips.  He tried to ignore the pain, the crushing torment of his broken ribs wrapped in layers of chain as he swung from the clock mechanism, his fate tied to the souls of others destined to move on.  He knew Emma was here to rescue him, she was so close he could almost feel her, but he’d be damned if he dragged another soul down here, not while he still had a choice.  

The clock ticked, jerking him another notch lower, inching closer to the river of souls screaming beneath his feet.

Hades smile only grew.  “Oh, but you will,” he taunted, stepping around the chained pirate.  He yanked the knife from Killian’s side, grinning widely at the loud groan wrenched from the dangling man.  Walking around Killian on the narrow platform, he nearly pranced as he twisted the dagger lightly in his fingers.

“You will, because if you won’t, I get to choose,” he said.  He stopped just in front of Killian, the god’s face inches from his.  “And I guarantee you, I will hurt them before I keep them.  Just like I am you.”

At that, he slammed the knife into his shoulder, just above the chain, and Killian couldn’t help the cry of pain forced from his already raw throat.  He gasped, swaying slightly in the metal cage wrapped too tightly against his broken body.

“Never,” he ground out between clenched teeth.  “I won’t do it.”

“Well, don’t let anyone say I didn’t give you a fair chance,” Hades said lightly, pulling the dagger from his shoulder.  Killian had no strength to scream, not anymore, he just moaned, his head falling to his chest.  

The god leaned forward, almost directly in his ear.  “Every soul they save brings you closer to your demise,” he spat.  “How do you feel about the heroes now, pirate?”

“Same as before,” he whispered, his last reserves of strength waning the longer he hung on the chain.  “I won’t do it.”

Hades shrugged and turned away.  “Suit yourself,” he said as he walked toward the throne room.  “I will have my souls, one way or another.”  With that, he left the room, leaving Killian alone with his pain.

Silence fell over the cavern, even the screams of the dead quieted as he slipped toward unconsciousness.  He thought he saw Emma entering the chamber, could almost hear her calling out, “Hang on, I’m coming for you,” but he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Another tick of the great clock and he dropped another foot, closer to the river of eternal agony that would surely be his end.  This was his choice, he would gladly go to this death than be forced to choose from among his family, his friends.  With the last ounce of strength he had left, he opened his mouth, chapped lips cracking as he whispered to the void beneath him.

“I won’t do it.”


	16. Only the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just something that occurred to me after watching the sneak peek for 5x14. I might also be slightly delirious, so I apologise if this is utter nonsense.

“I’m not doing it.”

His voice is hoarse, soft, yet unwavering as it echoes through the cavernous chamber. He knows there will be retribution, more torture, more pain, to pay for his refusal, but he won’t back down, not at this cost. 

Far too often in his centuries-long life, he’d found himself an unwilling pawn in someone else’s game. Far too often, he’d found himself backed into a corner, forced by those in power to yield to their demands. Far too often, he’d found himself faced with impossible choices. 

Not this time. This time, it’s clear what he has to do.

_I’m not doing it._

He’s afraid, he’d be a fool not to fear what Hades is capable of. He’s afraid, but he cannot afford to give in, not this time, not at such a price. He struggles to calm his features, a mask of indifference slipping on his face, his eyes burning with a determined conviction he desperately tried to feel.

Hades stops in his circuitous path around the blank headstones, his face difficult to read, his calm demeanor often concealing a fiery rage, an uncontrollable fury - his vengeful side, as he put it earlier. 

“I must say, I’m not angry,” he says, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. Killian refuses to look at him, fixing his stubborn glare somewhere off in the distance.

“I’m disappointed.” The god of the Underworld comes closer, crouching directly beside him at the clock’s base. He feels his jaw clenching reflexively. He wants to fight back and, simultaneously, to pull away from his tormentor, but he manages to keep himself still, fighting both urges at once. 

“And on second thought,” Hades intones in his ear, “I am angry.”

He can’t control the rush of memories, of tortures inflicted on his bleeding and broken body by the ruler of this realm. He can’t control how he flinches, ever so slightly, a shiver of terror racing through him as he feels the effect of Hades’ previous anger, the pain remaining in his bones, his muscles, his skin. He can’t control his remaining eye from closing as he tries to block out all feeling, all fear. 

But he can control his choice, his actions, and he vows to hold firmly to the words he rasped just a moment ago. _I’m not doing it._

He thinks of them, his friends, his family, the people who gave him a chance, allowed him, _helped_ him to change, from the empty shell of a man he once was to one full of hope, strength, love.

He thinks of how they came here, to the realm of the dead, to rescue him, risking their very lives to extricate him from this hell.

He thinks of her, his Swan, _Emma_ , the woman he was once sure he couldn’t live without, and now he would surely never live with, either.

He sets his jaw, his uninjured eye flashing angrily in the darkened room. Last time, his sacrifice was for them, the people he cared for, but last time it was a situation of his own making, his own weakness, as he gave into the darkness. This time, this time he was doing it for them, to spare them the pain he knew they would face in Hades’ world. 

He repeats his words in his mind, words he knows he must tightly hold onto despite the torment awaiting him because of them.

_I’m not doing it._


	17. Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My thoughts (literal dream, actually) after seeing the promo for 5x14.

She races along the narrow beam, frantically hoping she’ll make it to him on time, knowing she won’t, the pit in her stomach sinking as quickly as he is. He falls faster toward the river below, the water filled with the souls of those damned to eternal emptiness. 

“No!” she shouts, lunging forward as he drops below the platform, the chain that had been holding him up snaking quickly after him. One final step and she grabs the chain, the metal cutting into her palm as she _pulls_ , her muscles screaming in pain. 

But she doesn’t let go, stubbornly yanking upward with all her strength as he rises from the river, unconscious, his head limp against his chest. 

“Killian, wake up!” She’s pulling him up, pulling him toward her, but he doesn’t move, even as she finally, _finally_ manages to get him over the floor’s edge, his body sprawling motionless on the platform. 

She drops the chain, kneeling beside him as she magics away the binds wrapped so tightly around him. He’s still, so still, and now, as she lifts his head to her lap, she sees his unswollen eye open, his gaze empty, unseeing. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” she whispers frantically, looking him over, looking for any sign-

_No…_

His shoes, both of them, are wet, murky water from the terrible river dripping to the ground below. 

“Come on, Killian,” she cries softly, hoping she’s not too late. “Come on, snap out of it.” She doesn’t really register the sounds of her family filing into the room, their footsteps as they approach her and her motionless pirate. All she can see is him, her Killian, and how hollow his gaze is. 

She knows only one thing might be able to help, the one thing she’s reluctant to try, else it doesn’t work and she was wrong the whole time, the mission a failure from the beginning.

But it’s the only way.

She whispers softly, her voice barely audible even to her own ears, “I love you.”

Slowly, tears spilling down her cheeks into his hair, she leans forward, pressing her mouth to his bruised and bloodied forehead, his fevered skin burning her lips as she kissed him, waiting for the wave of magic she hopes will come.

_Come back to me._


	18. Quayside Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from tnlph for "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you." (Unspecified pairing, which she might regret later...)

She pulled back, she could feel her face flushing as bright as her hair, her fingers nervously twisting the straps of her purse.   _I shouldn’t have come,_ she thought, suddenly so much less prepared than she had been on the entire trip over.   _I shouldn’t have…_

He just stood there, stunned, his eyes wide, his fingers at his lips, lips she had just assaulted without warning in her excitement to see him again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she stammered, at a loss for words.

He coughed, cleared his throat, and blinked at her a couple of times, his pale blue eyes looking like themselves again.

“No, uh, it’s fine, I just didn’t expect to see you here,” he said softly.  He raised his hand and slipped his fingers through his dark blonde curls, hair that matched the boy’s exactly, the boy who stood off to the side, the reason for this trip.

“How are you?” he said, looking from her to the boy and then back to her.  “How is he?”

“We’re good, he’s good,” she said, wishing the heat would fade from her cheeks faster than it was.  SInce when had it been this awkward between them?   _Probably since the last time I saw him_ , she thought.  It was almost a dream, her memory of their time together, a memory she soothed herself with over the years.

“He’s grown so much,” he murmured softly, watching the boy.  “You’ve done well with him in my absence.”

“He’s nearly a man,” she whispered, emotions of all kinds caught in her throat.  

She didn’t wait a moment before adding softly, “I miss you.”

She couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes, and she blinked hard so he wouldn’t notice.  She didn’t come here to make him feel guilty - just the opposite.  She wanted him to be a part of their lives as much as possible, even if it was separated across so much time.  The kid needed it - hell, she needed it, much as she didn’t want to admit it.  She knew she was doing ok without him but she’d be damned if she didn’t grab any opportunity to visit, no matter the risk, no matter how short it would have to be.

He reached out his hand for her, holding her fingers tight in his larger ones.  It still felt like him, the same way he’d always held her hand before… so long ago.  “I miss you, too.”  His voice was quiet, but she could hear the note of sadness in it, his eyes sparkling a bit brighter in the evening light.  

She didn’t want this moment to end, they’d had so little time together, but she was here for the kid, and she wanted them to have as much time together as they could before it was time to go.

She squeezed his hand softly, forcing a smile in front of her tears.  “The next boat leaves in 3 hours.  Let’s have a good time today, okay?”  He nodded, a grin of his own across his handsome features.

“Aye, good plan, lass.”

But he didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t release his either.  They stood there for a moment longer, just watching each other, smiling stupidly across the space between them, but she hadn’t been this happy in… years, probably.  She knew the boy was probably bored to tears and was waiting for them to just get it over with, but she didn’t want to rush a moment of these shared times.

“Thanks for coming to visit, Nancy,” he whispered, his smile shaking slightly at the edges.  “And thanks for bringing him.  It’s good for a boy to know his father.”  She’d sworn she wasn’t going to cry, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep that vow, not after actually seeing him.

“Of course, Liam,” she murmured back.  “We’ll come as often as we can.”

His smile grew.

“Good.”


	19. A Pirate's Life for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt for "H-how long have you been standing there?" Some shameless Captain Swan fluff.

"Argh, mate!" Emma cried toward the window, Hook's sword in her outstretched arm. She twisted suddenly, the long coat swishing about her knees, loving the feeling of the leather against her skin. It still smelled like him, even after spending well over a year in a box. So many memories of him in this coat. Good, bad, and everything in between, and none that she would trade.

She had made it her project for the last few days to unpack the mountain of boxes that had sat around for far too long when she had found it in a box labelled "K's old stuff". It was folded neatly on the top, his sword, clothes, and other accessories laid out beneath it. Henry and Killian were off sailing for the day, and she couldn't resist trying it on. She only wished she could find the leather pants to complete the outfit, but they were nowhere to be found.

The shirt fell nearly to her knees, the red vest baggy against her stomach, and the coat weighed a _ton_ , but the moment she put it all together, she felt… different. Powerful. Dangerous. After all the adventure she'd experienced since Henry introduced her to her fairy tale parents, she still had a hard time believing that she was living with an actual pirate now, and none other than Captain bloody Hook.

She slid the sword back into the sheath strapped at her hip and whirled around once more- and nearly fell over in shock.

Killian was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a gigantic grin on his face.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" she stammered, flushing instantly.

"Long enough, love," he smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

She started to shrug out of the coat. "I, uh, I thought you guys had left."

"I left my spyglass in the closet down the hall." Killian pushed off the wall, tucking the glass under his elbow, and came close. He grasped the edges of the coat and pulled it back up to her shoulders. "I must say, this is quite a good look for you," he smiled.

She could still feel the heat on her cheeks as she looked up at him. "Well, you seemed to like wearing it for a few centuries, I figured it had to be somewhat comfortable," she said, confidence returning. She stood straighter, hands at her hips. He reached over and pulled her hair out from under the neck of the coat, fanning it over the wide collar.

"Oh, that's much better," he said, his voice low. "You'd have made a stunning pirate, Swan."

She grinned and pulled him closer to her.

"If I had known how much you liked seeing me like this, I'd have worn it ages ago," she teased.

He leaned down and kissed her gently. "Later, love," he whispered. "Henry awaits."

"If you're lucky, old man," she taunted as he pulled away and headed toward the door. "My ship, my rules, mate."

He laughed. "Aye, that it is, love," he said as he walked downstairs. "That it is." She heard the door close behind him.

She grinned, pulled out his flask from the inside pocket of the too-large coat, and opened it, taking a long pull of the coffee she had filled it with earlier.

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho." With a smile, she turned back to the pile of boxes, and got to work.


	20. Fading Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The graveyard scene from 5x12 from Killian’s perspective. My headcanon, my rules. Also combined with some mini-headcanon revolving around torture and the water of the River Lethe.

The pain comes in waves, crashing over him when he thinks he’s finally managed to ignore it.  He gasps, breathing air that isn’t air, with lungs that shouldn’t work.  Some things are just habit, memories of a life he’s not ready to release.

He tries not to move, moving only makes it worse.  He can’t remember why he hurt, can’t remember much after the sword pierced his heart, just Emma cradling his head, her hair, her body draped across him as he drifted away.  He vaguely recalls a drink, drops from a river that are forced on his tongue, but nothing else, nothing to explain the multitude of injuries covering his body.

His eye is swollen shut, bruises, cuts, and gashes littering his face, his body, and he can feel the blood dripping down his neck as he lies flat on the floor, the coolness of the cement the only comfort for his heated skin.

He must have drifted off, must have slept, because he’s now on his side, and there’s a taste in his mouth other than the sharp metalic tang of blood, a wetness he has to force himself to swallow.  It’s almost familiar, something he’s tasted before since his time in this infernal world of death, but he can’t _remember,_ and he suspects the drink is why.  New cuts mar his legs, he can feel the sting as he rolls onto his back.

Staring up at the blank ceiling, one eye open, one eye closed, he tries to remember - her face, her hair, the way she feels when she holds him close.  He feels unconsciousness clawing at him again, pulling him under, away from his thoughts, his memories, his pain, but he fights it, just for one moment alone with her.

He almost sees her, her face lighting up as she sees him too, and he wants to smile, to run to her, but he can’t focus and her image shifts, almost disappearing.  He forces his eye open again, forces himself to _look._ He knows he can survive whatever torture they have in store, he knows he can wait as long as he has to, as long as he can still see her in his mind.  She’s always been his lifeline, his reminder of who he is, who he can be.  An eternity without her would be hell, indeed.

Her image appears again, and he tries to speak, his chapped lips opening briefly, but he has no voice, no words.  She’s talking, but she has no sound.  He’s tired, so tired, and she slips away again, and it’s harder still to pull her back, but he tries, he needs to try.

She’s there once more, he can almost make out her parents behind her, the queen and the thief, and the lad, but they fade into the background behind her.

 _Emma_. 

She’s reaching for him, lips moving, but exhaustion finally claims him, and she’s gone, and he has no strength to conjure her once more, as he slides, finally, into the darkness.


	21. I'm Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the CS reunion scene from 5x14 "Devil's Due". My headcanon, my rules.

“You’re impossible,” he whispers with a smile, breaths coming in short pants blood dripping down his chin, his cheek, covering everywhere.  But he’s there, he’s _here_ , and they’re going to be fine, eventually.

“And you love me for it,” she says with a smile of her own.  She can say it, the words she couldn’t the last time he died in front of her, the last time she found him alive, relief flooding through her.

He grins, but it’s brief.  He’s in pain, he looks so hurt, so tired.  He falls forward, his hand wrapped tightly around her arm, as his head drops to her neck, her hair.  He stays there for a moment, as if breathing her in.  It’s only after she feels the wetness on her skin that she realises.  He turns his head a bit, resting on her shoulder, face turned away from her, but she can feel the gasps shaking his battered form, and it’s more than just the pain making his breathing hitch like that.

He’s crying.

Carefully, she wraps her arms around him, ignoring the blood covering almost all of his body, ignoring the screaming souls swirling beneath them.  She holds him, her face pressed to his heaving shoulders.  He doesn’t make a sound, nothing more than his already pained breathing, but she knows.

“It’s okay, Killian,” she whispers.  “I’m here.”


	22. Relaxing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt for Captain Charming and "relaxing".

How the hell is this supposed to be relaxing?” he grumbled as he pushed harder, matching David’s stride.

“It just is,” came the reply, though a bit out of breath.  “You’ll get into it, just wait.”

Killian wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.  “Look, mate,” he managed between pants.  “We chase monsters, and then we run from them when things go badly.  Why do I need a machine to help me do that?”

David grinned from the running contraption beside him - ‘treadmill’, he’d called it before they began.  “Because,” he answered, his pace never faltering, “it’s relaxing.”

“I feel like that hamster Roland keeps at Regina’s, running on that wheel that goes nowhere,” he complained.  David didn’t reply, just grabbed his water bottle from the cupholder and took a swig.

Killian hopped off the machine lightly, careful not to get sucked into the mechanism that continued to move.  He took a drink from his own canteen as he struggled to regain his breath.

“No thanks, mate,” he said.  “I’m not averse to physical exercise, I just prefer not to behave like a rodent while I do it.”

David hit a few buttons on his machine and stepped off.  “Okay, fine,” he smiled.  “Then let’s go outside.  I’ll race you there.”

“I believe you promised me a _relaxing_ afternoon, Dave.”

“What’s the matter?” David said crossing his arms over his chest.  “Don’t think you can beat me, old man?”

Killian narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice threateningly.  

“Prepare to meet thy doom.”


	23. Hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from annaamell for Captain Swan and "hug".

He’s so focused on the book in front of him that he doesn’t even notice as she slips up behind him.  He jumps slightly as she wraps her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder as he turns to her.

“Oh, you’re home,” he says quietly, and he flips the book over onto the table to hold his place.

“Good book?” she murmurs in his ear.

He nods and reaches back for her, twisting in his chair to pull her onto his lap, his arms holding her in place, hers still resting on his shoulders.  “Aye, quite a fascinating tale of magic and mayhem.  He could almost be your twin brother, this Dresden character.”

She laughs.  “Yeah, I think he burns down a few more buildings than I have.”

“I think,” he says raising a brow, “that’s only because I don’t let you near the grill anymore.”

“Hey!  I taught you how to use that grill!”

“That you did, love.  And we both know we haven’t had to call the fire department once this year since you did.”

She sighs.  “Okay, that’s true enough.”

He pulls her close in a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“What was that for?” she asks.  “I mean, not that I’m complaining…”

“No reason,” he replies with a grin.  “It’s just nice to see you smiling again.”

“You won’t be for long,” she says, nodding toward the neglected book.  “Book eight is a killer.”

“You promised not to tell me what happens!” he pouts comically.

She slides off his lap with another laugh.  “I’m going to make supper.  You let me know when you get to _that_  part.”

“Okay,” he answers, already picking up the book.  “Just call if anything starts burning.”

“You’re impossible,” she shoots back, and his smile widens.

“Aye, but you love me for it.”


	24. Tacos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from annytecture for Captain Charming and "tacos".

“I don’t get it,” David muttered, looking at his plate.

Killian nodded, his dish sporting a similar array of food.  “Neither do I.”

Across the lawn, Snow White, Regina, and Emma were laughing together, pointing at the boys as each new wave of giggles broke out.

“If they were just going to laugh about it,” Killian added, “you’d think they at least let us in on the joke.”

“And it’s every time we have one of these get togethers,” said David in between bites of his food.  “They keep smirking the entire time we’re preparing, and then when we actually start eating they can’t stop laughing.”

Robin stepped over just then, a half-eaten hamburger on his plate.  He took one look at David’s food, at the girls chuckling, and smiled knowingly.  

“It’s the tacos,” he said with a nod.

“Wha’?” asked David, his mouth half full of crushed tortilla and meat.  “Why?”

“Regina explained it once,” Robin said with a smirk.  “But I think it violated some sort of girl code.  I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you.”

“Why on earth are tacos so funny?” Killian asked, as he placed his uneaten food on the table with a suspicious glance.  “Is it some joke in this realm we’re missing?”

Robin shrugged.  “Can’t say, gotta ask the girls,” he said with a wink, as he walked off toward Regina.

“Should we not eat them?” David wondered out loud.  “Maybe they’re poisoned.”

“I highly doubt Emma would drag everyone to the Underworld to rescue me, just to poison me in our own backyard.”

“Still,” Charming added, putting his half full plate down on the table with a sigh.  “It is pretty weird.”

“Agreed.”  Killian glanced over at the table, eyeing the rest of the food.  “Think we’ll be safe with some grilled chicken?”

“Can’t hurt.”


	25. Killian's Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from cutelittlephangirl13 for Captain Swan and "Killian's shirt".

“What happened?” she asked, helping him sit on the toilet.

“Well,” he replied with a pained grunt, “it definitely wasn’t my fault.”  He winced sharply as she tugged his shirt from his pants and unbuttoned the few buttons that were left.

“Killian, this is the third shirt this month!” she sighed exasperated.

“It’s wasn’t me!” he groaned.  “Your father hits like a battering ram!”

She got the shirt open and peeled the tattered remains of the fabric from his wet skin.  “I really liked this one,” she muttered under her breath.

He grunted, his hand covering the bruises that were already starting to form on his now uncovered torso.  “Sorry, love.  I had to defend my honour.”

“By playing tackle football in the rain?” she shot back.  “I swear, Killian, sometimes the two of you act like little boys.”

“He started it,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t help the grin that slipped across his face.  “But never fear, Swan.  I won this round!”

She started laughing, right there, the shreds of muddy fabric in her hand, her dirty, wet _,_ pirate boyfriend sitting on the toilet seat with the proudest look on his face.

“I’m glad you won, dear,” she said with a smile.  “Now let’s go find you another shirt.”


	26. Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from fleurreads for Captain Swan and "breakfast".

“What on earth is that?” he asked, eyeing the bowl warily.

“Cereal,” Emma replied simply, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth.  “It’s food, you eat it.”  She was still groggy from the late night they had and she was not interested in getting into another Killian Meets the World discussion, at least not until the sugar hit and woke her up to a more coherent level.

“Cereal.”  He stared at the fluorescent colours swirling in the milk for another moment, then shrugged.  “All right, I’ll try it.”

Emma grinned and passed the box without a word.

Killian poured a small amount into his bowl.  “It’s amazing how your realm has such colourful breakfast foods,” he said as he tipped the milk on top.  “Your oatmeal was more like what we’d eat back in the Enchanted Forest, only without all those added flavours.”

He stuck the spoon into the wet cereal and hesitantly took a bite.  She watched as he chewed and swallowed, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well?” she asked expectantly.  “What do you think?”

He dipped his spoon back into the bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

“I think you’ll have to buy some more, as I intend to have this every morning.”

She laughed lightly and took another bite.

“Just don’t ask for chocolate milk in it,” she said around the food in her mouth.

His eyes brightened.  “Oh, is that a thing too?  That could go really well, I could-”

“Killian,” she said, the smile still on her face.  “Just eat your breakfast.”

He smiled back.

“Aye aye, love.”


	27. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt for Captain Swan and "jealous(y)".

“No.”

She leaned against the doorframe, hands across her chest, scowl on her face.

“Why not?  I think it works great,” he said from in front of the full-length mirror.

“No,” she said again.  “It’s a terrible idea.”

He turned sideways and examined the view.  “Come on, Emma, it’s Halloween,” he said.  “If what Henry explained was true, it’s tradition to wear costumes, something you wouldn’t normally wear.”

“The answer is still no.”

He walked over to her, a devilish grin pulling the corners of his lips upward.  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist.  She tried to resist, to hold onto the frown that threatened to fly off with the look he gave her, but she could feel herself failing miserably.  “I’ll let you wear my Neverland clothes.”

“Killian, you’re not wearing my red jacket and leggings to the party, and that’s final!”

He smirked again, leaning in close to whisper in her ear.  “You’re just jealous that it looks so good one me,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, “ aren’t you, Swan.”

She lost it.  She burst out laughing, her head thrown back against the wall.  “Yeah, Killian,” she managed between breaths, “that’s exactly it.  I’m jealous.”

He just grinned, and she looked him up and down once more.  Her jacket was too tight across his broader shoulders, the leggings only covering half of his lower leg.  He’d even worn the swan necklace she hadn’t put on in months, the keychain dangling against his own pirate jewelry.

“I knew it,” he winked at her.

“You look great,” she sighed with a smile.  “Let’s go.”


	28. Pregnancy Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from love-freedom-strength for Captain Swan and "pregnancy test".

“Do you need the instructions?” he called through the door.

“I know how to pee on a stick, Killian,” came the muffled reply.

He had no response to that.  Hell, he had barely any idea of what was going on at all.  She had woken him, near panicked, that morning, saying, “I’m late,” over and over until she finally calmed down enough to explain.  They rushed to the drugstore and picked up a handful of tests, and he had resisted the urge to threaten Sneezy with a punch in his ever-dripping nose in exchange for silence as they raced back home.

He sank to the floor, back against the wall beside the closed door.  “Emma,” he said softly, hoping she heard, “if you need me, I’m right here.”

There was silence, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

“Emma, say something,” he begged.

More silence.  And then her voice, quiet and scared.  “I don’t think I can do this.”

He twisted the handle and slipped into the bathroom.  She was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, arms wrapped around herself, her back to the counter where the stick lay.  He ignored it, and sat beside her, sliding his arm across her shoulders.

“Whatever happens, love,” he said gently, “I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded against his chest.

“Do you want me to look first?” he offered.

She shook her head.  “Together.”

He stretched his arm and grabbed the white stick, careful not to look at it as he covered the top windows with his palm.  He settled it on her lap, his hand still concealing the results.

“Ready?”

She didn’t answer, her face an unreadable mix of emotion.

“We can wait,” he said quickly.  “The box said that you can take up to ten minutes to interpret the-”

“I’m ready.”  He looked at her and she flashed him a quick, uncertain grin.  “On three?”

“Aye,” he smiled back, hoping it helped, squeezing her shoulders with his hooked arm.  “One… two…”

“Three.”

One blue horizontal line peeked out at them from underneath Killian’s fingers.  He heard her breathe a sigh, but it sounded far away, almost as if he was underwater.  He looked up at her, her expression still so mixed, so clouded.

“What are you thinking, love?” he asked gently, watching her eyes for something, anything.

She didn’t answer, just took another breath, less shaky than before.  He waited.  He knew patience, he’d had a lot of practice with it, with her.

“I think,” she started softly, still staring at the stick on her lap, “I think I’m…”  She looked up at him, and she seemed so sad all of a sudden.  He rubbed his arm up and down hers.  “I think I wanted it to be positive,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears he knew she’d try to hide.  “I know I said before that I wasn’t sure, but now I think I’m sad I’m not…”  She trailed off again, ducking her head before the tears spilled.

“Hey, Emma, it’s okay,” he said, his hand coming up to hold her cheek, her hair, as he leaned closer and kissed her forehead.  “We can talk about it now, we have time to discuss it.”  She nodded in his hand, and he continued.  “If it’s something you really want, then let’s figure it out.”

She glanced up, her eyes watery but her cheeks dry.  “Are you sure?  I mean, I never even asked what you think about all this.”

“I love you,” he said gently, “and I chose to have a future with you and everything that goes with it.  If we decide that includes having a house full of children, then that’s what we’ll do, okay?”

She leaned against him, and he kissed her head again.  “And we’ll do it the same way we do everything, love.  Together.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and now he heard the tears in her voice.  “I love you, too, Killian.”

* * *

 

A week later and still no sign of her monthly visit, she took another test and this time, it was a clear positive.

This time, her tears were clearly ones of happiness as he held her tight.

And so were his.


	29. Just For a Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, firstbeanstalk, for providing the lovely idea for a Killian-with-a-baby moment. Based on 5x16 team scene.

Killian leans over the table, the latest pages from Henry’s subconscious writing spread over the wooden surface.  Emma’s family, all of them, puzzle over the words, trying to fit the clues together, working together as they have so many times before.  He can’t help the feeling of warmth and _belonging_ that creeps into his still-dead heart.  They can do it, he knows.  They can do anything.

“I have no idea how it’s happening,” the lad says quietly.  “I wish I knew how so I can control it better.”

Emma puts her hand on his shoulder.  “You’ll figure it out, Henry,” she says, and Killian grins at the words that echo in his memory.   _I’ve yet to see you fail._

Suddenly, Robin is shoving the pink bundle of his newborn child into his chest.  “Hold her a moment,” the outlaw says, “I have to go talk to Regina.”

“Whoa, mate,” he tries to protest, catching the baby as best he can.  He has no idea how to deal with babies, and this one is still so tiny, so fresh, so vulnerable.

“It’s just for a moment,” Robin says, flashing him a grin, and he has no choice but to accept.

Killian settles the baby as the archer walks off, his arm curving automatically under the little ones back, his hook twisted away from tiny pink-socked feet.  He has more experience with killing things than caring for them, and this newborn is now fully relying on him.   _Bloody hell_ , he thinks frantically, not even sure what to do next.  She weighs almost nothing in his arms, and he’s never been more afraid to drop something in his life.  He looks around for someone to rescue him from the peril he’d never once encountered in all his years, but Emma only tilts her head at him and grins.

He looks down and watches the infant squirm a bit in his grasp, her nose scrunched up in concentration, and he wonders what she could possibly be thinking about.  Her face relaxes, she sighs almost in her sleep, her eyes closed, content.  This baby has no reason to trust a pirate like him, but she has no reason not to, either.

He knows, now, why this baby means so much to Zelena.  He understands, and he’s never identified so clearly with the insane green witch as he did right then.  This baby is a second chance, an opportunity to start over.  The unconditional trust this child has for her parents - and him right now - held a sort of magic that was unlike any he’d encountered before, a magic that could erase the horrors of the past with the promise of a loving future.

He looks up at Emma once more, this time calmly.  Her eyes meet his, and their matching smiles only grow.   _The future is now_ , he thinks, and he knows she’s thinking the same.   _And I damn well intend to have one._


	30. Just Like Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ripplestitchskein pointed out that, during the scene where Hook wakes up on the docs, in some shots there are bandages and a knife on the table behind him (in others it's just his flask, lying open and presumably empty). So this happened.

He lays out the items on the table, his hands (hands, he’ll never get used to that, never wants to now) trembling in a way he can only feel but not see: a large knife first, honed carefully to razor-sharpness; a mess of bandages, he knows how many it’ll take and still he adds more; his flask, filled with the rum he knows will burn, but then will eventually numb the fire.  He takes a deep breath, staring at the tools before him, each casting ominous shadows in the harbour lights behind him.

He takes a sip of the rum, wincing at the blaze in his throat, but loving it at the same time.  He swallows it down, chasing it with another.  Slowly, he brings the mouth of the flask over his wrist, splashing a fair amount on the skin he thought he needed, thought he missed.  Some of the amber fluid hits his knuckles, the broken skin there catching fire as well, but he doesn’t flinch.  Now is not the time for weakness.  Another dose for the knife, the liquid antiseptic dripping down to puddle on the tabletop, reflections of bobbing lights glistening at the wet blade.

He puts down the flask, debating taking another sip before doing so, deciding against it.  As much as he needs the deadening effect, he needs to stay clear as well, focused.  He lifts the knife, hefting it easily in his grasp.  It’s got just the right weight for the job, he knows.  It’ll do.

Nausea rises in his throat, and he swallows quickly, unprepared to lose the rum or whatever’s left of his dinner with Emma.  His grip tightens on the handle of the blade, his left hand clenching into its own fist beside it.  He’s not afraid of pain, he knows what to expect, it’s not the first time, and yet fear fills him nonetheless, fear of who he is, now.

_He’s becoming just like him._

He lied to her, lied straight to her face and told her anything but the deal he’d made to regain his missing limb.  He’d promised never to lie to her, never to trick her, but it happened, it happened and it was all him, all his choice.  He lied to protect his weakness, something his enemy knew too well.

And here he is, about to carry out the same act that was done to him that day.  The Crocodile took, the Crocodile gave back, and here he was taking again, following in footsteps he hoped never to be near, and his _cowardice_  is holding him back.

He drops the knife with a clatter, favouring the flask once more, another sip to extinguish the fire of shame and doubt, and another, until the fire’s gone and he cannot feel, but still he doesn’t pick up the knife again.  He can’t, he knows inaction is just as bad as the lies and deceit he’s committed, knows it’s _weakness_ , he knows, but still, he can’t do it.  How will he explain it to her, how will he look her in the eye and tell her what he’s done, with his arm wrapped in bandages once more, the flow of blood unable to wash away the guilt?

He doesn’t remember how long he sits, he doesn’t remember finishing the drink, but it’s empty sooner than he’s ready, and he’s tired, so tired.  

 _Get on with it_ , he thinks bitterly as he stretches out on the bench to wait.   _Do your worst._


	31. Daisy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from charmingturkeysandwich for "CS + daisy".

“No, absolutely not,” he says, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

“Why not?  It’s a great one!  They’re all over the yard, it would be so cute!” exclaims Henry as he jumps up from the chair.

“No,” Killian says again.  He looks over at Emma, begging her silently for backup.  “Emma, please tell him that we’re not-”

He stops as she stifles a yawn with the back of her hand.

 _She’s exhausted_ , he thinks, rising from his chair and crossing the room to her bed.  Henry falls silent, bent over his notebook as he furiously writes his list.

“Anything I can do for you, love?” he asks gently.  She smiles back at him, tired but happy, and his heart leaps with the joy he still can’t believe is real, though they’ve had months to prepare.

“Can you take her for a bit so I can rest?” she asks, looking down to her lap.

The tiny pink bundle is wrapped tightly in soft blankets, cradled easily in Emma’s natural hold.  He panics for a moment, his fear at doing something wrong, of hurting their newborn daughter comes rushing in, threatening to choke him.

He feels her hand on his arm, tapping against his shirt insistently, and he manages to tear his gaze away from the baby to meet Emma’s eyes.

“It’s okay, Killian,” she says, a soft smile on her face.  “We practiced, remember?  You got this.”

He does remember, the weeks after they first found out about her pregnancy causing him more nightmares than the ones from the Underworld, until she insisted on something called “baby therapy”.  Borrowing Robin’s small daughter - “She’ll be fine, I promise,” said Emma, Robin insisting on being present nonetheless - for a few minutes at a time, he practiced holding the small baby, picking her up, changing her clothes, using both his hook and the prosthetic he now wears in the hospital.

 _I got this_ , he thinks, as he reaches out a crooked left arm to her.  Emma lifts the baby gently, placing her into his elbow as his hand comes up to help settle her  comfortably against his arm and chest.

Tears spring to his eyes, and he smiles at the little bundle nestled so securely in his grasp.

“I got this, baby girl,” he whispers softly.  “I’ve got you.”

He grins up at Emma, not caring that his vision is blurred behind a wall of water, or that she can probably tell he’s about to cry.

Before he can, Henry’s voice interrupts from behind them.

“So, really guys.  Can we _please_ name her Daisy?”

 


	32. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anonymous for "CS + broken".

“He _WHAT?!”_  

She doesn’t mean to yell, but the words come out harder than she intends.  Louder too, by the expression on David’s face.

“It was an accident, Emma,” her father says, raising his hands in surrender.  He looks like he wants to run from the room, and judging by how she feels, he probably should.  But not before she takes care of her _idiot_ boyfriend.

“Where is he?” she manages to seethe between clenched teeth, fighting back the urge to shout.

“Downstairs.”

She follows him out the door and outside to the truck, where Killian lay propped up against the cabin, his casted leg raised on a bed of folded blankets.

“What the hell, Killian?”

“It was an accident,” he replies quickly.   _Did they rehearse their lines or something?_  “Your father was teaching me about the art of skateboarding and I got… distracted.”

“Something shiny was it?” she bites out as she climbs onto the truck bed.  “A nice bar wench?  Maybe a map with a big red ‘X’ on it?”

Killian just stares at her.  “You’re mad, I can tell.”

“Of _course_ I’m mad!” she sighs exasperatedly.  “I specifically asked you _not_ to go skateboarding on the park ramps!  I _knew_ something like this was going to happen!  And then you didn’t tell me until _after_ you got a cast on it?  Why’d you do it anyway?”

He shrugged sheepishly.  “Henry dared us.”

“He _WHAT?!”_

Just then the brunette hair of her son pops up in the window of the truck.  “Hi, Mom!” Henry waves, white plaster coating his forearm.

She just stares at him, horrified.  Eventually she turns her gaze to Killian.

“Please tell me this is a nightmare,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry, love,” he offers.  “Truly, I am.  I should have listened, we all should have.  But look on the bright side, Emma.  Now Henry has the same handicap as I do for Call of Duty!”

She pretends not to hear them calling her name as she walks away from the truck and heads down the street, shaking her head the whole way.

 _Actual five year olds_ , she thinks with a sigh.   _Bloody hell_.


	33. Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from annytecture for "Captain Swan + charming".

“There’s no way you did that,” she insisted stubbornly.  “No way at all.”

“There is, and I did,” he smiled back, his head resting against the cushions on the couch.  “Check your super power.”

“I did, and it doesn’t work on the confirmed insane.  Show me, then,” she said, twisting where she rested on his shoulder to look at him.  “Prove it.”

He laughed, and she loved the way it rumbled through his chest and into hers.  “I hardly think we have the proper materials here, love.  Besides, I had considerably more fingers back then.”

She settled back against him and muttered, “Liar.”

“Oh, so you just _happen_ to know where to procure a king cobra and a flute for one-handed pirates so I can show you how it’s done?”  He laughed again, and this time her head bounced up and down with her movements.  It was impossible to keep a straight face hearing his amusement with her ear to his chest, and she soon found herself smiling despite her disbelief.

“No,” she admitted, “I don’t.  But David might know, he worked in the animal shelter before he got his memories back.  The first time, that is.”  She hated that she couldn’t keep track of when everyone remembered what from when, it made her already-confusing life all that much more awkward to keep track of.

“Fine, get one.  I’ll prove it.”

“You’re crazy,” she smirked.

“No, I’m just good at taming wild creatures who think they want to hurt me,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to her head.

“So getting me to love you is like charming snakes in Agrabah?” she asked, pretending to be insulted.

“Oh, Emma,” he said with a sigh.  “Charming you was so much harder.”

She smiled broadly and snuggled deeper into his embrace.

“Good.”


	34. Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from ilovemesomekillianjones for "Captain Swan + cookies".

“So there were no cookies anywhere in the Enchanted Forest back then?” Henry asked, his eyes wide with disbelief as he took a bite of the still-steaming cookie.

“I didn’t say that,” Killian answered slowly.  “I just said I’d never had them until I came here.”

“Yeah, but how?  If they were around, why didn’t you have one?”

He shifted uncomfortably on the wooden kitchen chair, casting a glance to Emma, who stood beside the mixer.  She shrugged, nodding vaguely.  They’d talked about his past, talked about everything he’d gone through, and she knew all his secrets.  But when it came to Henry, she decided to leave it up to Killian what to share with the boy.  Henry was getting older and, as the Author, he was bound to come across stories that weren’t always about magical kisses and fairy dust.

“I grew up rather poor,” he said with a shrug.  “We didn’t have money for such luxury.”

“Okay, but Mom grew up poor also, in foster homes, but she had cookies as a kid.  Right, Mom?”

Emma nodded.  “Yeah, kid.  I had cookies.  Sometimes, not as many in a year as you’ve already had today,” she said, ruffling his hair as she placed the next batch on the table to cool in front of the two men in her life.

“So how come you never had any?” Henry asked again, turning back to Killian.

Killian leaned forward, propping his arms on the table as he considered his words carefully.  He didn’t want to reveal everything to the lad, he needed no pity and frankly didn’t think Henry was ready to hear how children could be sold as slaves with their father’s blessing, or what life was really like for small boys on seafaring vessels.  But he knew how curious Henry was, and how much he loved hearing the story behind the lives of those around him.

Instead, he said simply, “I didn’t have an easy life, Henry.  No one ever gave me much, least of all cookies..”

Henry tilted his head a moment, regarding him as he chewed the bit of cookie in his mouth.

“Well,” the boy said slowly, “I guess you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”  He pushed the cooling rack closer to Killian with a smile.

“Try the chocolate thumbprint ones,” Emma said from behind him.  “They’re the best ones, if I do say so myself.”

With a grin closer to one of relief, he took one of the cookies from the rack and bit into it.

“Aye,” he mumbled around the crumbs and chocolate in his mouth, “I think making up for all those uneaten cookies is a great plan.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good plan for your waistline,” Emma muttered, as she bent over to plant a kiss to his crumb-coated lips.

“You handled that well,” she whispered in his ear before standing up.

He only grinned as he grabbed another cookie and stuffed it into his mouth.


	35. Pargyle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from nothinbutapirate-captain for "a polka-dot sock and an argyle sock + maladroit". (I love you forever, O Humourous One)

He holds up the offending article in the middle of the aisle, his nose wrinkling slightly.  “What the bloody hell are these?”

“They’re socks, Killian,” she answers without even turning around.  It’s been a _long_ day clothes shopping at the mall, made only longer by his constant need to question everything about ‘this realm’, as he still insists on calling it.  “You know, for your feet.”

“Yes, I know what socks are, Emma,” he answers with a sigh.  “But what maladroid miscreant would wear such hideous things in public?”

She finally turns to look at him, and at the pairs he was holding in his hand.  One is a dark grey, dotted with an assortment of colourful circles.  The other’s black with crisscrossing white lines that meet in a red and blue diamond pattern.  

“The left ones are called polka dots, the right are called argyle,” she explains, the last reserves of her patience just about empty.  “They’re for men, and people like to wear them to feel whimsical and fun, not…. _maladroit_.  Now can we _please_ find you a new shirt to replace the one you literally  _shredded_ playing football in the mud so we can go home?”

“Aye, love,” he says, and he puts the socks away.

A week later, she’s reading on the couch when he comes to sit beside her, propping his socked feet up on the-

“Killian, what the hell are those?” she asks, staring at his feet.

“They’re socks, Emma,” he replies absently, opening his book.  “You know, for your feet.”

“Yes, I-  Wait, you went back to the stores for these?  When?”

“A couple of days ago.  I couldn’t stop wondering how socks help a person feel whimsical, so I picked them up.”  He lowers his book and wiggles his toes inside the socks - the left one polka dot, the right argyle, and she almost laughs at the sight of his mismatched feet resting on the ottoman.  “I don’t get it.”

He glances over at her, at her barely concealed smile, and grins.  “Ah, now I see.”

“Killian, you’re not supposed to wear one of each at the same time, you know.”

He shrugs, and winks.  “Where’s the fun in that?”  He picks up his book again, settling closer to her on the cushion.  “If it makes you smile, it’s whimsical enough for me.”


	36. And Tonight I Long For Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thoughts after seeing the rooftop scene in the promo for 5x17 and the look in his eyes after she promises to rest broke my heart into tiny pieces.

She walks toward him, blinking exhaustion with every step.  “Sorry I fell asleep,” she mutters.

“I’m glad you did,” he says quietly, watching her approach.  She seems more than tired, it’s an exhaustion that seeps into her very soul, weary in a way he’s never seen in her before, like a candle with barely enough fuel to burn as it flickers mightily.  She needs rest, he knows, he _sees_ , she has needed it for quite some time, with everything that’s happened since…

Bloody hell, it’s been a long few months.

“It’s not the best way to keep watch”, she replies, peering over the edge of the building.

“I’ve got it under control,” he says as she turns to him.  Her eyes are rimmed with red, dark shadows stretching beneath them in the dim light of the Underworld night, and he knows it’s his turn to be the strong one.  He can see the remnants of her nightmare clouding her eyes, fear and anxiety featured prominently along with her exhaustion.  

“Do you realise this is the first time you’ve slept since you rescued me?” he asks, his voice gentle, but he knows it’s been even longer.  The weeks they had together after Rumplestiltskin was banished all that while ago was probably the last time he’d seen her calm for more than a day at a time, but it didn’t last more than that, it couldn’t.  The Queens intruded on their peace, bringing the Crocodile with them and all the frenzy to avoid darkening her heart, only to have her volunteer herself to the curse he’d vowed to destroy, sending them all to Camelot.  She hadn’t slept as the Dark One, the dreamcatchers he’d stolen from her once he’d turned was a testament to the insomnia that chiseled away at her during that time.

And after his death?  She was still wearing the same clothes she had that night, he doubted she had taken the time to catch up on sleep properly before heading down to this accursed realm.  In all that time, she’d never once truly caught her breath, the storm of events crashing over her, again and again, leaving her truly gasping for air in its wake.

And it’s not over yet.

She pleads with him to let it go, her eyes begging him silently as she says, “I will sleep for weeks as soon as we defeat Hades, I promise.”

He knows he can deny her nothing, this woman filled with the fire of love and desperation, but he still wishes they have time to take a few moments, to rest, to sleep, but alas, there is no safety here, not yet.  He wants nothing more than to take her from this wretched place, to wrap his arms around her and rock her as she falls asleep, his hand tangled in her hair as she finally learns to breathe deeply of the peace she so deserves.

The guilt she tried to convince him is undeserved creeps in, his fault for turning dark so easily, for dying, again, for being the reason they are all here in the first place.  He’d promised her he’d try not to think that way, but it’s so damned _hard_ with her breaking in front of him, cracks in herindefatigable strength shivering in the cold night air.

He has nothing here, no skills, no plans, he barely has the courage to go through with the hastily outlined plan.  He feels useless to the others, useless to _her_ \- he’s dead, _dead_ , and she’s about to tumble in after him.  He can’t let her join him, not here, not in this pit of despair that sucks all hope from those who linger.  He has to rescue her, now, he needs to bring her home, for _her_ , so she can finally stop chasing the monsters he’s brought into their lives.

And he’s scared, he’s bloody _terrified_.  They’re about to go up against the god who extracts hope in blood, who tormented him relentlessly, and so painfully, the lingering memories of his wounds flaring in his mind.  It’s not even just the agony, the physical torment, though he’d be lying if he claimed that doesn’t give him pause.  The joy, the appreciation Hades had for the _artfulness_ of the torture, fills him with fear.  It’s a game, to him.  It’s beauty in pain, and he saw that in his eyes each time the god came for him, admiring his suffering as a Captain looks upon the slicked-smooth workings of his ship.

But he says nothing, his eyes hopefully masking all that he feels, and he looks into her eyes, and she back.  She’s waiting for him to argue, to fight back, but he has no intention of ever being away from her again, even if it’s just on the other side of an argument.

So he smiles gently.  “All right,” he says, his voice lullaby soft against the screaming knives of ice in the air.  “Then let’s get you home, shall we?”

He watches as the storm fades somewhat from her eyes, the tempest driven back by her trust in him, her love, and his cold heart warms with the intense affection and pride that she believes in him so fully.  

But the exhaustion remains as she nods her acceptance, a tired smile on her face.  He’s fighting for her now, he’ll never stop fighting for her, and with something to fight for he knows he can face the emotions that try to weaken him.

“Yeah,” she whispers.  “Let’s go home.”


	37. River of Lost Souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the moment in 5x19, where everyone is watching James in the water, and Killian is looking at Robin and the baby instead.

He sees it before it happens, centuries of fighting experience condensing into the one moment before him.  He sees the knife, the glint of steel matched only by the shine of evil on the other brother’s face.  He knows the moves available to David, he knows the ones he’d use as well with the space provided, and it’s over before he can even articulate anything, the words silent on his lips.

He rushes forward with the others, the water churning green in the wake of the lost soul, the most recent of its victims.  They can’t look away, the final moments of the brother never known is the last memories they’ll have of him.

He turns his gaze to the side, unable to watch.  She was sent there, too.  She was tossed into the water by the villain they can’t seem to defeat, callously so.  She had come to save him, to rescue him, and the cost of that was too great.  Another soul he’d failed, another life lost, another parent separated forever from her child.  When Baelfire had accused him of stealing her away all those years ago, he’d had no answer but an apology.  This time, he couldn’t even offer the boy, the man, that.  He hadn’t even had a moment to see her, to thank her, but it was his fault nonetheless, his fault that yet again they couldn’t be together.

He feels sick, the green waters reflecting on his skin, and even dead he feels nauseated.  James was no Milah, he didn’t even know the man but for reputation.  He attacked out of hate, and the River was surely a fitting end.  But for her?  Everything she’d done was out of love.  She wasn’t perfect, they both weren’t, and he was quick to admit it, both selfish and young and too excited to think about consequences.  But she hadn’t deserved that, she couldn’t have.

And yet, their fate is the same.

He asks Robin about the baby, glancing quickly at the pink bundle in his arms.  Anything to distract him from the waters that care not for the value of the soul it consumes.  He spares a glance down, hoping the churning is gone, hoping it’s over and only the guise of water remains.

It is.

He’s gone.

 _She’s gone_.

Forever.


	38. Kittens and Rainbows, part 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gusenitsaa didn't think I am capable of writing about these two items. So here. Part 1 of 2.

“Pumpkin’s going to have babies!” cries Roland, clapping his hands happily as he jumps up and down.

“Well, technically,” smiles Emma, “she’s having kittens, but yup!”  Roland let out a squeal and skipped out of the room.  She looks over at Henry, who’d been babysitting Robin’s exuberant boy for the last few hours.  “Everything okay here while I was out?”

“Yeah, Roland and I might have finished the moose tracks ice cream, but he made you a picture to show you how much he loved it,” he replies with a grin.

Emma opens the cat carrier on the floor and the newest member of their family stretches her paws out before daintily stepping from the container, her white furred paws completely silent on the wooden floor.

“Can we keep them?” Henry asks, bending to pet the orange and gold striped tabby, who leans into his hand gratefully.  “The kittens, I mean.”

Emma sighs softly.  “Henry, we weren’t really looking to add _that_ many new family members when we took her in.”  The house is big, sure, but with another six or eight cats, it would definitely start to feel small, and fast.

“I know, but I can take care of them.”

“That’s what you said about Fuego the betta…”

“He jumped out of the tank!” Henry exclaims.  “None of the research I did ever said they could do that!”

She sinks into a kitchen chair and regards him for a moment.  He’s no longer the little 10 year old who knocked at her door all those years ago, and even then he had managed to find a way to get to Boston on his own.  When he really wants to do something, he stops at nothing until he accomplishes it, and she’s proud of him for that.  And he has been really responsible around the house lately, helping with laundry, dishes, and keeping his room as clean as could be expected for a teenager who’s also the Author of a town not quite as peaceful as it would seem from outside.

“I have some paperwork from the vet on what to expect when the time comes,” she finally allows, “but if you look into what caring for kittens entails, and you still want to do it, then we can sit down as a family and discuss it.  Okay?”

Henry flashes her a grin, Pumpkin curled up on his folded lap and purring loudly in content at the way he’s gently scratching just behind her ears.

“Thanks, Mom!”

Roland runs in just then, a crayon-coated paper waving in his hand.  “I drew a kitten baby!” he says proudly, handing the paper to Henry.  “Can we name one of them Rainbow?”

Henry lets out a laugh and smiles at the little boy, and Emma wonders when he got so good at babysitting.  He’s clearly a natural, with animals and kids alike.   _If anyone can take care of the kittens properly_ , she thinks, _he will find a way._  “Sure, kid,” he says.  “We’ll name one Rainbow.”


	39. Kittens and Rainbows, part 2/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gusenitsaa didn't think I could write about these two items. So here. Part 2 of 2.

Killian walks back across the yard, wiping the dust from his palm hastily on his pants, knowing Emma will probably be upset when she returns from her emergency trip to New York.  But now is hardly the time to worry about an insignificant spot of dirt.  He gets to the small tree and crouches down to sit beside Henry, who’s nestled in the grass.

They sit together quietly, no words really needed at the moment, both lost in their own thoughts as they look at the two fresh mounds of dirt at the base of the tree.  He knows Henry’s hurting, but he hadn’t said much in the last hour, besides for a few nods and shakes of his head along with some non-committal noises.  He just wishes he knew what to say to comfort him properly.

Henry breaks the silence first, his words soft, hesitant almost, out of place for the teenager who’s always so confident.

“Does it ever get easier?” he asks, motioning vaguely toward the bottom of the tree.  “This, does doing _this_ ever stop… hurting?”

He’s pretty certain Henry isn’t only talking about what’s in front of them.  It’s been a rough few years for all of them, but especially for the boy who’s always believed that happy endings are possible.  Losing two of the newest members of their family was just the most recent tragedy, but he can see in Henry’s eyes how it brings up old memories of a very similar pain.

“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head though Henry didn’t turn to see it, “it doesn’t.  Not really.”

“Oh.”

They fall silent once again.  It’s the second time they had to take up shovels, the second hole they had to dig in as many days, and though they had done everything they could possibly do, it wasn’t meant to be.  They were too small, the two kittens from the litter born on Sunday, just after Emma got called away unexpectedly leaving him to deal with the birth and aftermath.  Frankly it was a miracle the little ones had survived as long as they did.  The other kittens seemed to be thriving nicely, cuddled with the mama cat they’d brought into their home barely two months earlier, not knowing she was already pregnant.  But these two just didn’t make it, and though it was nobody’s fault, it was a hard loss to swallow for anyone, especially a sensitive boy like Henry, especially after everything he’d put into caring for them properly.

“There was nothing more you could have done for them, Henry,” he says gently, wanting to pull the boy into an embrace, but not sure if their relationship is quite at that point yet.  He knows Henry’s accepted him as part of his crazy family, but he doesn’t want to make any assumptions.

“I know,” comes the soft reply.

Another moment of quiet thought, interrupted by Henry.

“Was it this hard with…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders.  “You know, with her, my other grandma.”  Killian can’t quite see the boy’s face, but he can almost hear the blush in his voice.

“With Milah?” he asks.  Henry only nods, and Killian is sure, so sure, who Henry’s _really_ thinking about, though he masks it with grief for the two sickly kittens.  “It’s okay, you can say her name.”  

And it is, now, ever since Emma arranged for the gravestone for her in the town cemetery, it’s been easier to think of her without his chest clenching tightly or the memories flooding over him so fast that he can’t breathe.  He tells Emma about her sometimes, when he thinks he can handle remembering.  It’s not often, it’s not a lot, but he’s been able to talk about her more in the last few months than he has in centuries.

He wonders, not for the first time, who Henry’s been able to talk to.

“Losing someone important to you always hurts, Henry,” says Killian gently.  “It’s hard, very hard at times, but it means you loved them, and love is always worth it.”

“But they were only two kittens!” Henry replies, turning to him finally.  His eyes are red, dry but definitely red, as if he’s been holding back as hard as he can, and Killian’s heart goes out to the boy.  “We only had them for a few days!  How could it hurt so much?”

“You cared for them,” he says, his eyes meeting Henry’s intently.  “You took time and effort to tend to them, you did as much as you could for them.  That’s love, Henry, you put a piece of yourself into caring for them, and when they passed, it felt like losing that piece.  Right?”  Henry nods, and Killian sees the tears welling in his eyes.

“They knew, Henry, just so you know.  No matter what happened in the end, Rainbow and Mittens knew you cared, that you loved them.”

The tears finally spill down Henry’s cheek as he tries to hold back a sob.  Killian reaches out, pulling the boy close and just holds him as he cries, his hand rubbing Henry’s back softly.  His half of Emma’s heart feels like it’s breaking into even more pieces.

“I never got to say goodbye to him,” Henry hiccups quietly, voice muffled from where he’s pressed against Killian’s chest, and Killian nods, knowing he was right all along, his own tears rising to blur his vision.  “My dad.  I never got to tell him that I loved him.  He never knew.”

Killian pulls back, his hand holding Henry’s face - gently but firmly - as he ducks his head to meet the boy’s eyes.  “Henry, he knew,” he says urgently.  “I talked to him, before.  He knew you loved him, and he loved you, from the moment he found you.”  Henry sniffles shakily, but Killian continues.  “If you ever want to talk about him, you can always come to me or your mom.  We both knew him, different sides of him, and I’m happy to share with you the tales I remember of our time spent together.  You know that, right?”  Henry nods and sniffs again.

Henry turns away suddenly, and for a moment Killian wonders if he’s overstepped his bounds in reaching out for him like that.  But then the boy scoots closer and rests his head against Killian’s shoulder, and his heart all but melts, the tears from a moment ago threatening stubbornly to escape down his face as he swallows hard to discourage them.  He wraps his arm around Henry’s shoulder and holds him close, and they sit for a few more minutes together, watching the tiny graves and thinking of all the others they’ve lost, the hurt and healing both.

“You going to be okay?” he asks softly, Henry’s hair tickling the scruff at his chin.

Henry nods.  “Yeah, I will.  Thanks, Killian.”

“You’re gonna be a great step-dad,” Henry adds softly, and this time, Killian lets the tears fall.


	40. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the sneak peek for 5x20, Killian's completely reasonable reactions to both Regina and Hades.

“You told her  _ what _ ?” Emma burst out, turning to the other woman.

Regina sighed softly.  “To give him a chance.”   _ Him _ , Killian thought, internally wincing at the memories, the one who…  Well, it was at least fitting, that two of the villains who’d seemed so intent on torturing him would end up together.  At least he wouldn’t be expected to attend their future happy occasions.  But he still couldn’t help the anger that lit inside him at the former-Queen’s short-sightedness.

“And you thought that was a good idea because…?” David trailed off, echoing his mute sentiments.

“Because we’re family,” Regina answered, turning to Emma’s father, “and I’m trying to trust Zelena.  She thinks she can change Hades.”

“I’m sorry, love, I missed the part where Zelana changed,” he finally burst out, unable to contain his words any longer.  Zelena, the witch who only weeks ago double crossed all of them in Camelot for a chance to steal back her ill-conceived child, helping the bloody false-king Arthur in his attempts to kill them all.  That Zelena.  He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, if it wasn’t so real.  Hades, the god of the underworld, teamed with the lunatic Wicked Witch, could probably cause untold amounts of damage to both them and their world should they put their collective evil, twisted minds to it.

She faced him, eyes flashing angrily.  “You’d think the ex-pirate with the rum habit would cut my sister some slack,” she shot back.

He’d have been hurt by her accusations if he wasn’t so angry, the one thing he held onto to keep him from giving into the fear that was slowly growing in his gut at the thought of those two together.

“Well,” he replied quickly, his voice low and biting, “you’d think that the Evil Queen would be smarter than to send the Wicked Witch to romance the most devious man alive.”

“Easy, guys,” Emma stepped in, and he was glad she did, his bubbling temper threatening to boil over in a way he knew he’d regret if he allowed it.  “We’re not going to win the war against Hades if we use all our ammo on each other.”

“The saviour has a point,” a voice added, a voice he knew only too well from his time spent deep underground, and this time even his anger isn’t enough to hide the fear as his entire body tensed, readying for whatever Hades could come up with this time.  His wounds were healed only so recently, and even then only the physical ones, the scars of the torture he’d suffered at the man’s hands would linger for quite some time, he knew, though he did his best to hide it.  But he couldn’t hide the way his muscles shook with fear, his chest tightening to a point of physical pain, as Hades stepped closer.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he managed, hating the way his voice cracked, hating the weakness in it, trying desperately to muster back the recent anger to hide his absolute  _ terror  _ at seeing the man before them _. _  Memories burst forward, memories of blinding agony, of taunting, of threats to hurt all those he cares about, all those who are right here in front of him, in easy access of the god who was  _ right there _ , and he swallowed hard, clenching his fist to hide the trembling of his fingers.

“Get behind me, kid,” Emma muttered softly to Henry, who moved quickly away from Hades.

“Oh, I didn’t find you to hurt you,” the god said, his voice soft, almost gentle, but Killian couldn’t relax, couldn’t tame the panic that still raced through him.  “I came for your… Oh, wow, this is hard.”  He took a breath and finished, just one word.  “Help.”

David frowned.  “What could you possibly want our help with?” he asked.

Hades sighed.  “Simple.  I went to meet Zelena for our  _ date _ and found this.”  He pulled a hand from his pocket and pulled out a note.  Regina stepped forward and took it, reading it quickly.

“No,” she whispered, her face falling as she passed the paper to Emma.

“Zelena,” Emma said, reading it.  “She’s been kidnapped by Gold and Pan.”

“They’re asking for a meeting, tomorrow morning,” Hades confirmed.

“Gold wants you to rip the contract for his unborn child,” Emma continued, and Killian was grateful she was taking the lead.  He kept silent, watching, listening, while trying to calm down, though he knew it was an exercise in futility.

“So do it,” Regina said.  “I just got my sister back, I’m not going to lose her now.”

Hades faced her.  “Neither will I,” he said, his eyes almost… sincere, and Killian almost believed him.  Almost.  “I’ll give them what they want, but I know the Stiltskins and their tricks.  They’re not going to keep their word, not unless I have an ace up my sleeve.”

“Luckily for you, you’ve got one,” Regina replied.

Hades raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry, you’ve been Zelena’s doting sister for all of, what, three hours?  No.”

“Who’s going to be more motivated than me?” Regina scowled.

Hades looked around the group, and Killian knew, he  _ knew _ what was coming next, though he couldn’t force himself to say the words.

“Emma.”

One word, just one name, and Killian’s blood went cold, his non-living heart pounding almost painfully at the way he said her name.   _ No. _

“What?  Why?” Emma asked, confused.   _ No, no, no. _

“If Zelena gets out of this alive, I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”

“Don’t trust a word he says, Emma.”  Killian managed to force the words out, past lips numb with fear.  No deal of his could ever, possibly, be worth trusting him, even for a moment.

Hades continued, as if he hadn’t said anything.  “You and I both know your family wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”   _ No! _ Killian wanted to scream.  The last thing she needed was more guilt about her choice to come save him, when it was  _ his _ fault, not hers, that they’re all down there, trapped in the realm of the dead, but he was frozen in place, only able to watch as the god continued.  “If you help me save her, I’ll take everyone’s names off the headstones.”

“So we can leave the Underworld.” Emma whispered, and Killian could think of a hundred different ways Hades can betray them, a hundred loopholes to the “deal” he just casually offered them, but he couldn’t say a word.

“What do you say, saviour?” Hades asked.  “Do you want to send your family home, or not?”


	41. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After THAT scene, on 5x20 Firebird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gusenitsa(a) made me do it. I'm adding her bit to the mix as well.

He waits for the elevator to ascend, the tears burning as they streak across his cheeks, but he makes no move to wipe them away.  He had to be the one to do it, to pull down the metal grating, he knew she couldn’t on her own.  He barely found the strength himself.  

He stands motionless, the sound of the heavy gears turning the only noise he hears over the rushing pulse in his body.  He watches as the lift moves faster, rising quickly toward the surface, toward the others, toward those permitted to move on, her family, her friends, the one’s who accepted him as one of their own.

But not anymore.

He sees the lift disappear from sight, his last True Love leaving this cursed realm, and his chest tightens until it’s too hard to breathe.

He’s known so much pain in his too-many years, his life littered with shattered dreams, broken promises, and lost loves.

It’s only fitting, he supposes, that his death would be the same.

Alone.  He’s alone.  For the first time since his death, he’s alone, and the full weight of his death finally hits him, and he can barely breathe.  The sob bursts from his throat, the echo hollow in the empty cavern, and he’s surprised he’s managed to hold back that long.  More tears, hot and wet, run down his face.   _She’s gone, for good this time._ He still doesn’t move except to drop his head, teardrops falling to the gravel at his feet.  No point in watching her, the elevator is long gone.

He can move on, now.  He has to, he promised.  But the hope that once burned in him dies with each second that passes, each new tear emptying him of his once passionate need to survive.  There’s no point, anymore.  Not without her.  They’re True Love, the most powerful magic of all, and it’s all for nothing.

He sinks to the ground, his back against the hard stones, and cries until nothing is left and he realises that Hades finally, finally managed to break him.

_Goodbye, love._


	42. Hand in Hook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the promo pictures for 5x20 of Emma holding Killian's hook. Not really spoilers anymore.

It’s almost time.

He feels a shiver of fear rush through him.  This is it, this is their moment, this is their time to prove themselves.  

No, not to prove themselves, they’ve done that time and time again, over and over throughout the months, the years, since that first time they met so long ago.

It’s not enough apparently, to know.  It’s not enough, to feel what they are to each other.  He thought it would be, he knew she wanted it to be, but Hades tells them otherwise, and it’s the only way to get back.  Hades, his torturer, who threatened to kill all those he held dear, works with them now.  His head would spin with all the times those around him switch sides, if he hadn’t already come to accept it as part of the ever changing fabric of villainy and heroism.

He’s ready, despite his fear.  She’s ready, despite her hesitation.  It’s the beanstalk all over again.   _Try something new, darling.  It’s called trust._

He does, and she does, and now it’s time to prove it.  Not to themselves, never to themselves, only to the test that lies ahead, the test he only prays they can pass, despite their assurances to each other, despite what everyone already knows.

He feels her tug at his hook, almost unconsciously, her gaze focused on the elevator before them.  He can sense the vibrations up his arm, though he can’t feel her fingers holding tightly to the metal.  He wants to feel her, to twine his fingers in hers, to weave their fear and doubt and trust and love together until only hope remains.  He wants to touch her skin, warm, thrumming with the magic she once didn’t want, so _alive_ , against his own dead, calloused palm.

But she holds onto the hook, the metal smooth and unyielding, exactly what they need in the task ahead - strength, solidity, firmly holding to what they know to be true.

She holds onto him, onto the hook she’s always seen as a part of him despite it’s otherness and lifelessness.  She grips tightly to the part of him that defined him as a villain for so long, and looks toward their future, as heroes.  She doesn’t let go, always trusting who he can be, in who he _will_ be, in time, the hook not a symbol of evil more than a piece of who he is, who he’s lost, what he’s been through in his too-long life.

She holds onto his hook, and all he feels is love.


	43. Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For queen-mabs-revenge, because I can’t handle another flippant dismissal of her pain at thinking him gone forever, not again. This better contain spoilers for 5x21.

_“I believe you have a funeral to attend.”_

The words echo in his head as he hurries closer, faster and faster, toward the town he now calls home.  Now.  Home.   _A future._  His future restored, a favour from a god for all the heroism and happiness that was stolen from him, his heart returned, his life reborn.  His blood sings in his veins, fast and loud and _alive_.

He’s running. One second he’s dead and the next he’s moving as fast as his legs can take him as he races across the field toward the umbrella-covered group. He welcomes the burn in his muscles, the stretch of his limbs after spending so much time without a real body, pushing himself to move faster, ever faster, toward her.  He skids on the wet grass, the rain unrelenting, but he rights himself and runs on.

It’s a sea of black atop a field of green, the grimness of death mingled with the grassy life that breathes all around.  He would have stopped to enjoy the feeling, the scent of winter in the air, the whisper of the trees in the wind, the cold of the rain on his skin, the beauty of all the _life_ around him.  But there’ll be time for that later, now is not the time.  He has to find her.

He sees them, the townspeople decked with identical umbrellas, black clad figures huddled together, their life attempting to lend strength for the loss he knows she must feel.  He felt it too, a literal lifetime ago, and he recognises the pain, the heartbreak, and he has to find her, he has to end it as fast as he can.

It doesn’t take long to find her.  Even without the golden tail of her pony, his heart knows her anywhere, and he only regrets that he’s behind her, that she won’t see him until he’s close.

His new heart breaks as he approaches, seeing her face, seeing her torment, over him, over them, over the future they shouldn’t have.  She’s crying. He’s seen it so many times before, in uncertain beginnings and too many goodbyes. She’s crying, and he can’t stand to see her pain again.

He runs faster, a shout bursting from his lips.

“Emma!”

She turns.  The entire town turns, but he sees only her, his sodden shoes wading through the muddy grass as he continues his frantic pace toward her.

_“Emma!”_

Her mouth is moving, her lips whispering her name as clearly as if he were beside her.

“Killian…”

In another moment, he’s there, he’s wrapping himself around her, arms crushing her as close as he can and he buries his face in everything that is her.  She’s frozen in place, shocked, her umbrella falling to the ground, her hair quickly soaking with rain and his tears.  But a second later she returns his tight embrace, his name on her lips in a quiet litany of hope rebuilding.

“Killian, Killian… how?”

“Not now,” he murmurs into her shoulder, her ear, her neck, her skin.  He never thought he’d have this moment again, he never thought he’d touch her again, not in life, not again.  And he’s sure he’s never letting her go again.

“It’s you?  It’s really you?”

“Aye,” he whispers.  “It’s really me.”

She pulls back a bit, just a bit, and meets his eyes, hers filled with fresh tears ready to wash away the ones already on her cheeks.  “You were dead, Killian.  This is your funeral.”

He laughs.  He _laughs_ , and he’s alive, and she’s here in his arms and he’s laughing in this place of death and loss.  “I know, love.  I came as fast as I can.  Did I miss anything?”

She laughs too, but it sounds so close to the sob he heard back there, back when he thought he was saying goodbye.  He leans down and gently touches his lips to hers, tasting the saltiness on her mouth, certain she’s tasting his as well, as they chase away memories of a last farewell still so fresh.  She presses forward, her hands pulling him closer, deeper, impossibly nearer, and he’s happy to oblige, his own hand rising to touch her hair, to push the stray wet locks from her face as he kisses her with everything he has.

They only separate to breathe, and even then, their foreheads press tightly against each other, unwilling to be separated even by the barest amount, the fog from their breath filling the narrow gap between them.  Breath, air, _life_.  He laughs again, and he can’t believe it’s real, that he’s back, with her, and this time, when she joins in, there’s no trace of sadness in her voice.

“I love you.”


	44. To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I’m in pain, I write.  It helps.  Reading people’s tags, on the other hand, tends to make more pain.  So I write more.  This is for caprelloidea because of her tags on that new spoiler picture for 5x21.  You know which one, don’t make me say it.  I cried writing this, so…. that’s your warning.

“I’m sorry.”  


Her voice was barely a whisper, but it didn’t matter, there was no one there.  No one that could hear her, anyway, everyone else long gone.  Her parents said they’d wait for her, whenever she was ready, and gratefully left her here alone with him.

It, with it.  The headstone that brazenly screamed his name in golden letters, over a pile of fresh dirt and leaves, few bright colours to break up the brown as the dirt turned to mud in the softly falling rain.

But he wasn’t there.  No matter what filled the coffin they’d laid in the ground that morning, he wasn’t there.  His soul was still in the underworld, so tangible, so solid, so _real_.  

So dead.

She reached into her pocket, fingering the cold metal container, the leather thong at the neck attaching the cork to the opening.  The liquid sloshed slightly as she gripped it, and for a moment she could almost taste the burning flavour of his own distinct brew of rum.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again to the stone, the mud, the body that lay still, so still, under the earth, she wasn’t sure which.

“I should have found a way,” she continued softly, tears already threatening behind her eyes and, dammit all, she let them come.  She’d let down her walls easily enough around him, she could do the same now that he wasn’t.

“I’m the saviour, and I couldn’t even save you.”  She held back the sobs though, she needed to tell him, to say the words out loud, and she couldn’t do that while crying.

“I know you want me to move on,” she said, the flask flush against her palm as she tightened her fingers around it and around the umbrella in her other hand, trying desperately to ground herself, to hold on for a little bit longer.  “I’ll try, Killian.  I promised I would, and I’ll try.  But… not yet, okay?”

She couldn’t talk for a moment, her throat too tight to get the words out.  She swallowed hard, the warmth of tears on her face against the cold winter air the only comfort, with him gone.

“I just need some time with your memories first,” she rasped, her voice hoarse as if she’d been screaming, and, she figured, in a way she had been, she never stopped screaming for him from the moment the elevator rose out of sight, silently calling his name over and over again as if she could bring him back by sheer force of will.

She took the flask from her pocket and popped open the cork with her thumb, as he would have done, were he here with her.  But he’s not, or she wouldn’t be here, either.

“I was going to drink to us,” she whispered.  “I wanted to drink to us, to our future.  But we only have a past now, and I’m sorry.”  She swallowed again, her chest tight, heart pounding in her chest, whole, unharmed, unmarked, but so so broken.

“So here’s to you,” she managed to get out.  “Killian Jones, my true love, my hero.”  She raised the bottle to her lips and took a quick swig, craving the fire on her tongue as it spread down her throat.  She reached over and splashed some on his grave, and she swore she could almost hear his voice.   _Bloody waste of it._

Her hand trembled as she slipped the cork back into the top, the flask back into her pocket, where she knew it would stay for a while longer.

“Goodbye, Killian.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from nothinbutapirate-captain for "Captain Swan + floccinaucinihilipilification ... because why the hell not?" (I love your prompts and your words so much, never stop!)

“No, Swan.  I won’t allow it.”

Killian stood with his arms folded and blocked the doorway, a bemused but firm expression on his face.  He knew now what she was capable of, and he would not permit his ship to fall prey to her devious ways.

“You have to clear out this junk at some point,” Emma tapped her foot impatiently.

“ _Junk_?” he exclaimed in disbelief.  “I’ve spent _centuries_ amassing these treasures!  I’ll not have you tossing them out with yesterday’s half-eaten remains!”

“Yeah, and they’ve spent _centuries_ amassing dust and cobwebs,” she retorted.  “Come on, Killian.  It won’t be so bad.”

“That’s what you said about helping your mother clear out David’s stuff from the loft.  I saw what you threw out then, and you’re not touching my stuff.”  If David’s pouting for a day after at his lost fishing lure collection was any indication, he had to remain strong, despite her attempts to break him.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.  Adorably, but no, he couldn’t permit himself to think that way, not if he hoped to win.  “You can’t keep all of it forever.”

“Of course not,” he grinned.  “I just have to wait until you’ve finished with your floccinaucinihilipilification of other people’s belongings.”

“My what?  Come on, that’s not even a word.”

His smile only widened as he remained motionless in front of his cabin.  He was winning, he could almost taste victory...

“Killian, please.”

He sighed, the sense of loss creeping into the edge of his assuredness.  All she had to do was say ‘please’ and he melted, and she knew it.  “Why is it so important to go through my stuff?”

“Because,” she said, and then blushed furiously.  He ducked his head to catch her wandering gaze, which she avoided easily.  Odd, she wasn’t usually so evasive in her conversations with him.  She could tell him anything, her walls barely in existence anymore, especially around each other.

“Emma, just tell me.”

“I just…” she trailed off, nervously chewing her lip as she finally met his eyes.  “Don’t be mad?”

He uncrossed his arms and reached out his hand to touch her cheek gently.  “Never.”

“I’m just really tired of living in the past.”  The words fell out in a rush, her face turning even more red than before, but she didn’t break eye contact, and his heart swelled thinking about how far she’d come, _they’d_ come.  “All these reminders everywhere of everyone’s pasts, of things they collected and felt were important, it just… I can’t explain it, but it _bothers_ me.”

Ah.  He understood completely.

“You want to work on building our future, eh?” he asked softly.  “Everything else just reminds you of what we almost lost.”

She nodded against his fingers.  “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you say so in the first place, love?” he said with a smile.  “Of course I’ll help you.”

A grin raised the edges of her lips as she nodded again.  “Thank you.”

He knew, then, that he never had a chance at winning the argument, and he didn’t care in the slightest.  What good was a victory when he couldn’t stand for her to lose?

“But we’re not throwing it out, just putting it in storage, got it?” he warned.

She laughed.  “Whatever you say, Captain.”

 


	46. It's You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from that goodbye scene in 5x20. Phew, that was intense.

_“Don’t you know, Emma?  It’s you.”_

He’d been so certain, then.  So sure.  It was as close to  _“I love you”_ as he’d dared approach, then, he’d risked her walls closing in around her, cutting him off from her forever.

She didn’t run.  Instead, she pulled him closer, a single tear trailing down her face as she narrowed the space between their lips until none remained, and still she allowed him closer still.

Now his face ran with tears, the lingering traces of her touch lighting across his fingertips, her taste on his lips as he watched her leave forever.

She was his happy ending.

But he couldn’t be hers.


	47. Two Tales of Two Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @xhookswenchx asked for someone to write her a Jones brothers reunion in heaven, but she was kind of vague on the details, so I did it both ways.  I hope it works!

##  **A Tale of Two Brothers**

He steps across the bridge, the stone turning to gravel, and then to sand beneath his shoes.  The ship he knows so well sits anchored out in the bay in front of him, a rowboat jammed into the sand just to his left.  Footsteps from the small boat lead across the beach and into the treeline, where a small cottage sits, smoke curling lazily from the chimney at the top.

He sighs softly, and sets off across the beach.  Approaching the little house, the door opens and a familiar face walks out, and he can’t help the smile that turns up the corners of his mouth.

“Killian,” his brother says softly, reaching for him.

He closes the last few feet and embraces Liam tightly.  After a few moments, he pulls back, unsurprised at the wetness on his brother’s cheeks, tears that mirror his own.

“So the rumours are true,” Liam says with a small grin.  “After far too short a time,  my little brother is finally here.”

Killian nods once, unable to speak even if he wanted, the mix of emotions coursing through him too much to separate.

“Want to talk?” Liam asks, voice soft.  He shakes his head, swallowing hard.

Liam pulls him forward again and he buries his face in the familiar arms of the family he’s missed for so long.

“Come inside,” Liam whispers in his ear.  “I’ll make us some tea.”

Without another word, the two brothers enter the cottage, and close the door.

* * *

##  **Another Tale of Two Brothers**

He steps across the bridge, the stone turning to gravel, and then to sand beneath his shoes.  The ship he knows so well sits anchored out in the bay in front of him, a rowboat jammed into the sand just to his left.  Footsteps from the small boat lead across the beach and into the treeline, where a small cottage sits, smoke curling lazily from the chimney at the top.

He sighs softly, and sets off across the beach, his hand holding hers tightly.  Approaching the little house, the door opens and a familiar face walks out, and he can’t help the smile that turns up the corners of his mouth.

“Killian,” his brother says softly, reaching for him.  “And Emma.”

He closes the last few feet and embraces Liam tightly.  After a few moments, he pulls back, unsurprised at the wetness on his brother’s cheeks, tears that mirror his own.  Liam turns to give her a hug of the same strength, a fierceness in his grip he can still feel.

“So the rumours are true,” Liam says with a small grin.  “After all these years,  my little brother and his wife are finally here.”

Killian nods and smiles to Emma, their hands still entwined tightly, a habit hard to break after all the decades spent together.

“Come inside,” Liam grins.  “I’ve made some tea, and I’d love to hear all your stories.”

Without another word, the two brothers and the former saviour enter the cottage, and close the door.


	48. It's a Trick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That reunion in 5x21 was fantastic, and I'm still processing all of the emotion in it!

It’s a trick.  It has to be a trick.  He’s getting one last look at her, before he moves on, one last glimpse of the few happy memories in his life.

It’s a trick.  No other powerful being had ever been good to him, why would he deserve it now?  Helping Emma defeat Hades was his unfinished business, not free pass anywhere.  Right?

It’s a trick.

It could be nothing else.

But he can’t help the whispered name falling from his lips, hope too practised to give up now, moments before his eternity without her is to begin.

“Swan?”

She turns, and freezes, just staring for a moment.  Suddenly he realises he can feel the rain on his skin, slowly drenching his jacket, his clothes he’d worn only just as he died.  He can feel the mud beneath his boots, smell the flowers, the sharp tang of the atmosphere during a shower, he can smell everything.

It’s a trick.

She whispers his name, too.

“Killian.”

Before he can say another word, she’s running toward him, her body crashing into his, warm, wet, _solid._ As they desperately press their lips together, he breathes her in, just as surely as she feels his breath, warm, wet, and solid.

It’s not a trick.


	49. Just One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunion scene in 5x21, because there was just so much going on. So beautiful and perfect and still painful and amazing. I'm still a mess.

The rain patters softly against the small stone that bears his name, tears from the sky.

Loves lost, loves found, loves gone forever.

What she wouldn’t do for one more moment with the man she she called her own. Just one more smile, one more touch, one more kiss.

_You brought me home, but home was you all along._

She joins the town for the service, but there’s only silence, the heaviness of everything they’ve lost weighing on all of them.  Soon she’s alone, alone with the rain that cries the tears she doesn’t have anymore.

_You brought me home, but home is with you, and you’re not here._

All the times she’s lost those she’s loved, it never got easier. 

_I don’t know how to say goodbye._

He’s right, they had more time than they should, the world below was one in which she should never have ventured.

_You have to let me go._

She remembers catching him before he fell, his body limp and broken against hers, his eyes tearing as he saw her face, just one more time.

She remembers the feel of his hook against her palm, cool and smooth and such a part of him, the metal clasped in her fingers just one more time.

She remembers his arms, strong and tight, holding her close as he lends her his strength, just one more time.

She remembers his kiss, salty and sweet, the promise of love in every press of his skin, just one more time.

She remembers his fingers as he grasps hers, desperately holding on as she pulls away, memorising every touch of each other, just one last goodbye.

A flash of light, and he’s there, he’s _there_ , and she’s clutching him closer, tighter, erasing every last memory with new firsts.

Just one new beginning.


	50. Denial, Grief, Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people commented on the line Killian says to Arthur in 5x21 - "Denial, grief, anger, can we just get to acceptance?" - and wondered how and when he'd learned about the stages of grieving. Someone (who I've forgotten, shoot me a message if it was you, I replied to your post) mentioned this possible scenario, so I had to write it. 
> 
> Nerd!Killian alert, set post-Neal's death in season three.

He slips away when no one is watching, all of them too busy mourning the loss of the man he knew once as a boy, centuries ago.  Not that anyone is really paying attention to him anyway, he’s just an outsider, the pirate who only seems to get in the way now that he’s no longer a threat to them.  But with all the time he’s been spending with the lad, “babysitting” as Emma calls it, he figures he should make himself useful.  He makes his way quickly to the library and closes the door tightly behind him.

He’s dealt with death before in his too-long life, but he’d be the first to admit he hadn’t dealt with it _well_ , and Henry shouldn’t have to face his father’s death with the anger and loss and the feeling of being unmoored, left adrift at sea as he had, not if there’s another way.  There must be, this world can channel lightning into homes without fires and create food at the touch of a button.  There has to be _something_  here.  He scours the shelves, wondering briefly what sort of organisational system this library employs, the tiny numbers on the spines of the books give no indication of content that he can figure.

He reaches the 150′s and spots one titled “On Death and Dying”.  Perfect.  With barely a whisper, he pulls the book from the shelf and skims quickly through the pages, looking for anything that could help him talk to Henry.  Or to help himself, he’s not sure he’s ready to admit that yet.  In the quiet of the Storybrooke library, amid books both ancient and new, he finally learns how to grieve.


	51. Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from justanotherwannabeclassic for CS+books

“No!  No, no, no, no, _no_!”

She rolled her eyes as she turned another page of her book, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions.

“What is it now, dear?” she asked, forced calm in her voice.  They’d been cooped up against the snowstorm for almost three days without power, the fireplace the only source of heat until the whistling winds could calm enough to take a look at the downed power lines.

Three days spent in the same room together.  Three very _long_  days.

While she’d been enjoying the break from the world without cell phone distractions as she took the opportunity to catch up on the books she’d been saving, he had decided to organise the entire house.  Just like during the last power outage, and the one before that.

He stood up from where he’d been crouched behind the couch alphabetising the books on the shelves that ran around the room.  “You have to stop bending the books backward, Emma!” he said exasperatedly, dumping a handful of tattered paperbacks onto the cushion next to her.  “You’re ruining the books!”

“No,” she said with a glare, “I’m reading them.  How else am I supposed to get to the words in the middle?”

He dropped another stack of broken-spined books onto the pile.  “You could be gentler.  I was going to read this series next, and now the pages are barely attached!”

She sighed and put down her book on the table upside down, the binding cracking before her eyes - _hmm, maybe he has a point_ \- and grabbed his hand, pulling him close.

“Killian, stop.”

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to relax at the sight of her book’s sacreligeous position.

“You don’t have to reorganise the house every time there’s a power outage,” she said gently, massaging his fingers with hers.  He must not have been _so_ upset, as his hand squeezed hers, mirroring her movements.

“I know,” he said with a weak smile, “but we’re both so busy all the time, it just gives me a chance to take stock of what we’re lucky enough to have.”

“But it’s just _stuff_ , Killian.  It’s nothing important.”

A look of hurt crossed his eyes, just for a moment, and then it was gone, almost as if it was never there.

“What is it?” she asked, tugging on his hand to pull him to the couch.  “What’s wrong?”

He sighed as he let her guide him to sit beside her, sinking into the pullow as she nudged herself closer.

“It’s nothing, love, really.”  He met her gaze for a second, then ducked his head down to watch their entwined hands with interest.  “Just that, growing up, Liam and I, we never had anything of our own, even the clothes we wore were the crew’s leftovers.  We only dreamed of having our own homes, filling it with treasures, _stuff_  as you call it.”  

She knew about his past, his time spent as slave to other people’s whims.  But every time he managed to talk about it - which wasn’t very often - she could feel her heart breaking more for all he’d been through.  She’d never really had much stuff either, always shuffling from one home to another, but she never really cared, it was just something else to lose or some other reminder of her crappy life.  He had nothing left from his childhood, everything taken from him besides bad memories and the ring they’d somehow managed to hide through the years, the ring she still wore on a chain around her neck.

“I’m sorry, I-”  

He shook his head, cutting her off.  “I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Emma,” he said quietly, his eyes a deep blue in the shadows the fireplace cast around the room.  “It’s over, in the past.  But after everything the two of us have been through, please allow me to appreciate all the stuff we get to finally have?”

“Of course,” she nodded, and he squeezed her hand tightly, flashing her a small grin.

“Now, love,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the book on the table though his smile only grew, “can you please stop destroying all the paperbacks?”

She groaned and hit him in the face with a pillow.  He batted it aside easily, a growl coming from deep in his throat as he tackled her back onto the couch and pinned her arms down as they laughed.  He leaned closer and kissed her, his mouth soft but his stubble rough against her chin, warm skin despite the freezing temperatures all around.

“Don’t worry, Emma,” he said as he moved back, his face serious.  “As much as I love the library of books we own, I’d trade it all away in a heartbeat if it meant I get to stay with you.”

She grinned and strained her neck up, stealing another kiss she knew he wouldn’t mind giving, as she whispered into his lips, “Good.”


	52. Rollercoaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anonymous for CS+rollercoaster

“Yes, of course!”

“No way in hell.”

Killian and Emma stared at each other, a grin on his face, a scowl on hers.

“Seriously, Killian?” she snapped.  “He challenges you to do it without getting sick and you cave that quickly?  What happened to ‘presenting a united front’?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, though she knew it was a losing battle.  Her boys were united against her, and she was losing ground, fast.

His face fell at her glare.  “Ah, sorry, love.  I got a bit carried away is all.”

 _Is all indeed_ , she thought angrily.  Because him being a daredevil in all other aspects of his life had led to only _good_  things, right?

She watched as he turned to Henry, an apology in his eyes as he said, “I apologise, lad.  Your mum and I decided no Hulk roller coaster, regardless of how ‘incredible’ it claims to be.”

The look on Henry’s face almost broke her heart.  Almost.

“But Mom,” he said quietly, “I thought it would be a great way to prove just how fearless the great Captain Hook really is.”

If she wasn’t so upset about the recent betrayal, she would have laughed at the face Killian was making, his eyes large and hopeful as he peered sadly at her.

“Please?” Killian pleaded.  “I promise I’ll look after him.”

The two of them looked so mournful, and she could feel the last of her resolve crumbling.  She sighed.  “Fine, just don’t get sick.”

Matching grins spread across both Killian and Henry’s faces as they leaned in and kissed her cheeks.  She laughed and pushed them both toward the line for the ride as she settled on the bench to watch as they came around the track.

They went on the ride five times.  And Killian did get sick, in the end.


	53. Anonymous Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from nogoodcancomefrombad for CS+ anonymously writing letters to each other and falling in love over it.
> 
> This _could_ be the start of a bigger AU, but for now, this is what it is. =D

_UglyDuckling28:  You still want to get to know me?  
_

_Jolly_Roger:  Most definitely.  Are you sure you’ve not been scared off by my charms yet?_

_UglyDuckling28:  It takes a lot to scare me._

_UglyDuckling28:  Maybe we’ll just have to wait and see._

_Jolly_Roger:  As you wish, love._

“What are you doing?  We’re going to be late for class?” Elsa huffed impatiently.  Emma knew she could always count on her roommate to get her out on time.  Just a few more words… there.

She hit “send” and closed her laptop.  Slipping it into her case, she grabbed her backpack and headed toward the door and her impatiently waiting best friend.

“Okay,” she said, slinging both bags over her shoulder.  “Let’s go.”

Elsa’s eyes narrowed.  “You were sending another love letter, weren’t you, Swan?”

“What?  No!”  Emma knew she was blushing, she knew she couldn’t hide anything from the other girl.

“You were!” Elsa crowed.  “I knew this was more than a one-time thing!  Did you finally tell the hot guy your name yet?”

Emma shook her head, grabbing her key to lock the dorm room as they headed out to the hall.  “Not yet.  Time isn’t right yet.  We’re still just getting to know each other.  Besides, I still have no idea who he is, if he even is a ‘he’.”

The two girls turned toward the lecture hall and Emma almost tripped over a figure crouched against the wall.

“Hey!” she cried, catching her balance against the wall.  “Watch where you sit!”

“Sorry,” mumbled the guy, Killian if she remembered correctly, his blue eyes electric as he flipped closed his laptop and got to his feet.  “I was just…”  He blushed and trailed off nervously scratching behind his ear.

“It’s fine,” Emma said, shouldering her backpack once more.  “I should have looked where I was going, sorry I yelled.”

“I shouldn’t have parked there,” he said quietly, gentle British accent barely noticeable as he shrugged.  “Best wi-fi spot in the dorms.”

She laughed.  “Yeah, we lucked out.  I gotta run, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

She fell in step with Elsa and almost missed his final, quiet words, barely above a whisper, as she headed to class.

“As you wish, love.”


	54. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combining prompts from annytecture for CaptainCharming + floor, icecubelotr44 for CaptainCharming + football/soccer, and anonymous for CS + bruises

“I can’t move,” David groaned from where he lay sprawled on the ground.

“At least you’re on the grass,” Killian replied, lifting his arm a bit and watching the mud drip from his drenched sleeve.  “Don’t complain.”

“I still outrank you, Hook.”  The prince tried to roll over, but gave up halfway and fell back with a huff.

“This is America, you outrank nobody,” Killian snorted, then winced, holding his bruised ribs.  “At least, I think we’re still in Storybrooke, if we haven’t been knocked into some alternate realm after that.”

“Better not let Emma find out you refused to wear the safety gear,” David joked with a short laugh, followed by a wince of his own.

“Wouldn’t talk if I were you,” Killian managed.  “You’re the one who let Little John play in the first place.  I’m convinced he’s half-bear.”  He could feel the cold mud seeping into his clothes, or what was left of them.  Emma was going to kill him - he was sure the shirt was ruined for good, and it was not even close to the first time.

David tried to climb to his feet again but didn’t quite make it, collapsing to the muddy lawn with a splash and a groan.

“Bloody sore winners,” Killian griped, not bothering to make a move to regain a more vertical position.  “Look at them, laughing at the food table, not a bruise on them.”

“Robin offered us a hand getting up, if you recall.  Or maybe you were still unconscious at that point.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Killian said with a straight face.  

He gently prodded at his chest, nothing seemed to be broken.  Nothing but his pride, anyway, though everyone watching the game seemed to have drifted away, focusing on the food fresh from the grill in the picnic area instead of the two fallen heroes, bested at the brutal sport he’d grown to love.  There was just something amazingly thrilling about racing across a field at top speed, crashing into an opposing teammate to get them to drop the ball, or dodging said opponents in his own mad dash for the end zone.

Or failing to dodge them, as was the case for him.  The Merry Men took the sport just as seriously as he and David did, only they had the advantage of muscles built by wrestling mountain lions or tossing trees or whatever the hell they did in the forest all day.

“At least I wasn’t the one who hit you this time,” David offered.  “Emma won’t be mad at _me_ , in any case.”

“You really know how to comfort a guy.”  Killian was certain he was going to spend the rest of the night on the ground, muscles too sore to even try to stand.  The smell of burgers and steak wafted over while the sounds of his family and friends laughing and joking sounded too far away for him to even consider moving.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of wet mud against his back or the way his ribs pulled just a little too painfully on deep breaths.  David must have managed to best gravity because when he looked up, the prince was towering over him, breathing hard.

“Need a hand?” David offered, though the position he was in - bent over, arm hugging bruises of his own - he didn’t seem as if he could take the added weight.

“No thanks, mate.  I think I’ll just spend the night here.”

David shrugged with a wince.  “Suit yourself, I’m going to get something to eat.”  He limped over to the rest of their friends and family.

Killian must have closed his eyes again, because when he next blinked he saw Emma peering down at him, her amusement barely concealed behind her concerned gaze.

“You okay, pirate?” she asked with a small smile.

He let out a dramatic moan.  “I can’t believe we lost that game.”

“I can’t believe you even agreed to _play_ that game,” she said.  “You and my dad taking on Robin and John?  You’re insane, Killian.”

“Are you here to yell at me?” he moaned again.  “If so, just go back to your family and eat, leave me here to die alone.”

She huffed out a short laugh.  “You’re not dying, though that shirt has seen better days.”  She kneeled next to him, wrapped her hands around his arm, and pulled.  “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Killian let her help lift him from the mud, whatever indignity he’d already suffered at the hands of the Merry Men enough to allow this additional moment of weakness.  He gasped softly as she reached around his back, bruises he hadn’t even known flaring to life at her touch.  “Sorry,” she murmured.  Soon he was standing, leaning just a tad heavier on her than he needed, for effect.  He considered adding another quiet moan, but figured he’d already worn out her sympathies for the time being.

“Should we go home?  Get you a new… wardrobe?” she asked, waving vaguely at his ruined clothes.

He shook his head, the smell of the food too enticing to worry about his injuries.  “After losing so terribly, I think I need to nurse my wounded pride with a few burgers and a beer first.”

She laughed, reached up on tiptoes and planted a kiss against his cheek.  “My hero,” she grinned.

“We lost, Swan.  Badly.”

“I know,” she shrugged, leading him to the food table.  “But you got back up.  That’s all that really matters, right?”

“You’re absolutely right,” he grinned.  He pulled her close, wrapped her in a wet, muddy hug, ignoring her shrieks of laughter as he purposely spread the muck onto her clothes as much as he could.  “Well, that and food,” he added with a laugh.  “Let’s go eat.”

Hand in muddy hand, they headed toward the others.


	55. Laundry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from prairiepirate for CaptainCharming + laundry

“Just take off your shirt!” David demanded, his hand outstretched to take the soiled garment.  “It’s no big deal, I just took off mine.”

“I’ll just change in the bathroom,” Killian muttered, grabbing the clean T-shirt that David brought him, and headed toward the-

Locked.  Of course it was.  “Just a minute!” Snow White’s voice called out from inside the small room.

“Killian, Emma’s going to be here soon, if I don’t get your clothes in the washing machine before, she’s going to know all about the mud wrestling we promised not t-”

“I’ll change upstairs.”

“Fine,” David shrugged, flashing him a quizzical look, and it was all Killian could do to rush past him up the stairs to the loft, Emma’s old room in the small apartment.

Killian quickly stripped out of the ruined shirt (Emma was NOT going to be happy, again) and dropped it wetly on the floor.  He picked up the prince’s blue shirt, was just about to shrug into it when he heard a creak on the floor behind him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

Ignoring the obvious sign of someone coming up behind him, he pulled the shirt over his head as fast as he could and yanked it down, roughly shoving his hand and hook through the sleeves.  He whirled around ready to yell when he saw David’s face, his skin pale, eyes open wide.

“I… I had no idea,” Emma’s father stammered.  “Snow said there were scars but… I didn’t know.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have folllowed you up.”

Killian sighed.  Well, it really was a miracle he didn’t know by now, with Snow White’s inability to keep a secret no matter how insignificant.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, bending down to grab his muddy shirt.  “Now you know.”

David coughed, shook his head visibly, and then reached out a hand to take the dirty clothing.  “Better get this washed then, before Emma-”

They both froze as they heard the sound of the door opening below.

“Bloody hell,” they both said at the same time.  Catching each other’s eye, they both grinned conspiratorily.

“Well, you better come up with a good story, and fast,” Killian whispered, leaning close.

“Why me?” David retorted, all trace of his previous shock gone, only the familiar camaraderie Killian had learned to recognise for what it was - honest, open, acceptance.

“Because,” Killian grinned, “you’ve got my shirt in your hands.”  As fast as he could, he darted down the steps toward Emma, leaving behind the spluttering prince holding the muddy evidence.


	56. To The Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milah deserved better. Killian deserves better. My take on how Rumple's eventual defeat could happen. 
> 
> (One of many headcanons, subject to change at will, but he will be defeated, make no mistake.)

Rumplestiltskin grins at the group of heroes standing in his shop, his eyes wild, crazed almost, as he narrows his gaze toward Killian in particular.  “I’ll let you in on a little secret, pirate,” he sneers, almost spitting the last word.  Killian doesn’t move, his sword firmly grasped in his hand, his special concentration of dreamshade coating the end of it.  The Dark One leans forward, closer, but his voice carries easily to everyone in the room.  “ ** _I_**  killed Milah,” he declares proudly, “not Hades.   ** _I_** tossed her into the River of Lost Souls.  Now what are you going to do?”

Killian can’t breathe, can’t think, his grip on his weapon faltering as he tries to process what the Crocodile’s just admitted.  He hears Snow White’s soft gasp of disbelief behind him, David’s whispered, “No,” Emma’s quiet, “Killian, don’t,” but it seems too far away to matter.

_He killed her.  Twice._

He can only stare as Rumple watches him, watches the storm of emotions he doesn’t even bother to hide - grief, anger, and the all-too familiar vengeance he’s come to know so well.

Killian lets out a roar and lunges forward quickly, his sword aimed at the enemy he’s chased for too long, who’s evaded him for too long, who’s managed to hurt too many of the people Killian loved.  It’s familiar, so familiar, racing to drive a blade into the heart of the man who took his love.   _Revenge for Milah_ , he thinks as he rushes toward Rumple, about to -

_Not like this._

Killian stops himself at the last moment, the tip of his sword hovering mere inches from the Dark One’s chest.  The Crocodile smiles even wider, barely even glancing at the weapon over his heart.

“What, changed your mind, pirate?” he jeers.  “Whatever happened to ‘to the death’?”

“No,” Killian manages quietly, sparing a quick glance back to Emma and her family.  Emma’s gaze meets his, her eyes watery and for a moment he doesn’t know why.   _She met Milah_ , he remembers quickly.   _She knew her, for however brief a time._   He looks at David, who grants him a quick nod, either giving him permission to kill the enemy he’s chased for so long, or in understanding of what Killian has planned, he’s not sure.  He turns back to Rumplestiltskin and says softly, “To the pain.”

The Dark One laughs, a creepy sound that sends shivers down Killian’s spine.  “You’ve been waching too many old movies, pirate.  Either that or you’ve gone soft.”  Killian only shakes his head.

Before Rumple can react, Killian drops his sword, reaches swiftly into his pocket for the vial he almost used on the Evil Queen, pops off the cork with his thumb, and tosses the contents toward his enemy.  The bright blue liquid splashes against the Dark One’s tailored suit - a far cry from the scaled leathers he’d worn when all this had started - and for a moment, there is no reaction.

But blue sparks start crackling against Rumplestiltskin’s suit, faint pops and hisses as the magic is wiped away, for good.

“No!” Gold cries as his bad leg crumples under him and he reaches for the counter to support himself, his power fading as the sparks die out.  “No, no, no, no!  You can’t do this to me, you can’t just take my magic from me!”

Killian doesn’t say a word.  

“You can’t leave me like this!” Rumple begs desperately, on the verge of hysterical.  “Just kill me instead!”

Killian takes a slow breath.  “No,” he says quietly, as he shakes his head, dropping the vial to the floor.   “I want you to live a long life, alone with your cowardice.” 

He wants to feel satisfied, completed, like some part of him has found peace, but instead he just feels... empty.   _So many people,_ he thinks sadly. _He’s hurt so many people I loved_.  He feels Emma slide up beside him, her arm wrapping around his waist, and he pulls her closer as they turn toward the door.  Her family - his family now, too - is already heading out of the shop, leaving behind the broken pleas of a man who’ll no longer have any influence, any power over anyone, again.

He doesn’t look back as they exit the shop.

Outside, Killian can’t seem to catch his breath, the air harder to pull into his lungs than it should be.  He’s gasping, chest heaving for breath, and it isn’t until Emma touches his arm that he realises he’s sobbing - great, dry sobs that shake his entire body.  She reaches for him, pulls him close, and he rests his head against her shoulder as she rubs his back, waiting for him to calm.

“You did it, Killian,” she whispers in  his ear.  “It’s over, for good, he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”  He still can’t seem to breathe properly, but she keeps her hand moving circles on his back, her face rubbing against his cheek.  “You did it as a hero, Killian.  I’m so proud of you.”

He tries to tighten his grip, to bury his face deeper into her neck, but she pulls away, holds his cheeks in her palms and looks right at him, green eyes into his blue, her face streaming with tears.  “Milah would be proud of you, too.”

He lets out a quiet sob and tucks his forehead against her shoulder, and now the tears come, tears for all the people hurt by the enemy he’s defeated at last.  Tears for Milah, for Emma, for Henry and Baelfire and Belle.  And tears for himself, for the hurt he finally allows himself to feel, for his lost love, his lost hand, lost years of his life spent in pain and blinding agony at Rumplestiltskin’s actions.

He cries until the tears won’t come, until he’s exhausted and can’t cry anymore, but still Emma holds him, her cheek pressed against his as she whispers soothingly in his ear, the promise of a happier future in every gentle touch she offers him.

“Let’s go home, Killian.”


	57. Soft and Warm and Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really just love Emma's sweater from the season 5 finale, okay?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mossandmushroom, in exchange for socks. Here's your fluff! I told you the sweater would survive...

“Where is it?” Emma called out in exasperation from deep inside the closet, her voice small and muffled, trapped by the hanging clothes around her.

“Where’s what, love?”  Killian peeked his head inside the small room, but she barely glanced up as she continued her search.

“That sweater, the black one with the light pattern on the front,” she muttered, pulling open drawers and rummaging on shelves.  “You know, the one said you _really_ liked?”  She already had on the black shirt that went so well under the cardigan, she really wasn’t in the mood to change out of it.  And that sweater was so soft and warm and comfortable...

“I like all the clothes you wear,” he smirked, a wicked grin on his face, “but I love the ones you _don’t_ more…”

She tossed him a groan and rolled her eyes as she reached for the stack of sweaters on the high shelf.  “Not now, Killian.  We’re already late, my parents will think-”

“Will think what, love?” he said, his arm wrapping around her waist gently, pulling her close to him.  She tried to hide her smile behind a forced frown, but he wasn’t fooled and she knew it.  “They’ll think that we’re adults, living in our adult home together, doing adult things?  I know they regret missing your childhood, but they do recognise that we’re both well past the age of consent, right?”

“Well, they know _you_ are at least,” she shot back without a trace of malice, “with those hundreds of years you have on everyone in this town.”

He fell back a step as if physically struck by her words.  “Oh, you wound me, Swan!” he exclaimed.  “Playing the old man card, that’s low even for an ex-thief like yourself.”

“Ex-thief, says the pirate,” she replied with a smile, slipping easily into their familiar game of friendly taunts and teases.  “At least I’m reformed now, they even made me sheriff.  What can you say about your marauding ways?”

He leaned in closer, a twinkle in his eye, his voice low. “I prefer pillaging, actually,” he drawled.  “It’s a much more… colourful term.  Leaves a lot to the... _imagination_.”

“Oh, I can imagine a great deal, Captain.  And you’ve been a villain for quite some time, how can you ever hope to get the princess like me?”

“I suppose I’ll just have to find someone to endorse my heroic ways,” he murmured, his lips only inches from her cheek.  “Perhaps someone like…”  He leaned back, hand and wrist wrapped around her back.  “Well, Zeus comes to mind, I’m sure a reference from him is worth-”

He broke off laughing as she slapped him lightly on the chest.  “No fair!” she cried with a chuckle of her own.  “You can’t keep playing the god card, you know.”

“Why not?” he shrugged, his arms still holding her tight, always and forever.  “I now have two of them on my side.  If that doesn’t buy me a little bit of credibility, I don’t know what will.  You princesses have such high standards.”  He shook his head in mock dismay.

She stretched up on socked tiptoes to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek.  “You’ll do, pirate,” she murmured in his ear.  “I’ll keep you.”

He turned his head to the side quickly, pressing a kiss of his own to her skin.  “Thanks, love,” he said softly, all traces of playfulness gone from his voice.  “Yours is the only approval I really need anyway.  You know that, right?”

She nodded, slipping back down to her own height.  He was still smiling, but his eyes shone brightly with a watery intensity she’d recognise anywhere, the disbelief at being _wanted_ melting away in quiet acceptance of the love that had been so rare in both their lives, the look of a lost little kid who found home.

“And you’ll always have it, Killian.  You know that, too.”  

His smile wavered slightly at the edges, then he blinked a few times and the moment passed, his expression slipping back into the normal, self-assured cockiness he still wore over his slowly-fading insecurities.  “Bloody god-approved hero,” he muttered, still grinning.

“The sweater, you ancient sea dog?” she asked, stepping back from his embrace and turning toward the shelves once more.   “Where is it?”

“Bottom drawer, under the blue and white one,” his encyclopedic (“Obsessive,” she’d called it more than once) memory provided.  “But you know how much your mum hates it.  She tried to burn it at the barbeque last month.”

“She didn’t try to burn it on purpose, it was just a stray ember.”  Emma rummaged through the drawer he’d indicated, messing more of the neatly folded clothes.   _I should probably help him re-fold it later_ , she thought guiltily.

“You were halfway across the garden from the grill at the time, love,” he called from the bedroom.

“Aha!” she crowed as she pulled it out, exactly where he’d said it would be.  She quickly slipped the sweater over her head and tugged it down, flipping her hair out from under the collar so it lay fanned across her shoulders.  She grabbed her boots and yanked those on quickly.  Flipping off the light switch, she stepped out of the closet.

Killian held out her red jacket.  “Should get chilly later,” he offered.

“Don’t need it,” she shook her head with a smile.  “I’ve got you instead.  Besides, you love this sweater, would be a shame to cover it up.”

She didn’t have to reach quite as far, the heel of her boots propping her much closer to his height, as she leaned close and touched her lips to his.  He kissed her back, his mouth soft and warm and comfortable.

“All right,” he whispered quietly, his nose still resting against hers as they fought for air.  “Leave the jacket, I do love the sweater.  But if this is just a ploy to steal _my_ jacket later…”  He leaned back and raised his eyebrow in suspicion.

She laughed.  “Let’s go.”

(She wore his jacket home that night.)


	58. Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from lavoyageuse21 for CS + ice cream

“Pass some over, I want to try.”  Emma dug her spoon into Killian’s bowl, pulling out more than just a taste, and shoved it into her mouth.

“Love, if you wanted the flavour I chose, you just had to ask, I’m happy to switch,” he offered, taking his own spoonful of the creamy dessert.

“Nah,” she shook her head.  “More fun to steal it from you.”

He laughed.  “It’s hardly stealing, when I’m offering to share.”

“Then don’t.  How can I practise my pirating skills if you always let me steal from you?”

“Oh, _practise_ , is it?” he grinned wickedly, pulling the bowl closer to his side of the small round table.  “I guess I should try to make this more difficult for you.”

She only returned the grin, a playful glint in her eyes.  “I love a challenge.”  She wagged her eyebrows at him, and Killian couldn’t help but laugh at her attempts to copy his first seduction.

He didn’t notice the spoon slipping into his bowl, digging out a giant scoop of cookie dough and chocolate fudge, until it was too late.

“Oi!”  He whirled around, spoon raised for battle, but Henry only laughed as he licked the stolen ice cream from the spoon.

“I told you before, Killian,” the boy said with a grin matched only by his mother’s.  “You’re a great teacher.”

“I surrender!” Killian exclaimed, throwing up his hand and pushing the half-eaten bowl toward the centre of the table.  Emma and Henry pounced on it, but not before pushing their own bowls beside his.  Together, they finished all three scoops of ice cream.


	59. Frogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from killian-whump for CS + frogs. This turned out WAY angstier than I intended, sorry!

“Show me one more time, please, Killian?” she begged.  Her clothes were all wet, fingers wrinkled from so much time spent in the murky water, and it was buggy and hot out, but she was not going to leave without catching one.  No way.

“Like this, Swan,” Killian replied gently, his hands cupped in front of him.  At all of ten, three years older than her, he treated her like a big brother - annoying and condescending a lot of the time, but when no one was around (especially not their foster parents), he made sure to take care of her.  He had Liam, and she had no one.  Well, no one besides himself.

“Just come up behind them, really slowly…” he demonstrated, creeping closer to the unsuspecting amphibian resting just below the water line.  “And then clap your hands around it, just like…”  His hands moved so fast, almost too fast to see, as he nabbed the tiny frog in both palms.  “That!  But don’t hold it too tight, Swan, you don’t want to crush him.  Just let him rest right in the palm of her hand, right where he belongs.”

Emma peered into his closed fists as he slowly unfolded his fingers, the small frog resting calmly on his palms.  She couldn’t help grinning widely at his success.

“Now you try,” he said, nodding toward another frog hiding at the opposite bank, “just like I showed you.”

She tried to copy him, she really did, her steps slow and careful as she crossed the stream, her hands cupped in front of her.  She got just behind the little guy and dashed out her two small hands as fast as she could.  But when she pulled away, all she had were two handfuls of muddy water, the frog safely hopping up the bank.

“You’ll get it, one day,” Killian said next to her.  He reaching out his cupped hands.  “Here, hold this one.”  She put out her hands, and he dropped the small frog onto her palms, laughing as the tiny feet tickled her skin.

“You have to let him go before we go back,” he said quietly.  “Mrs. Johnson doesn’t like animals.”

She nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  Just a few more minutes, Killian?  Please?”

“Sure, Swan.  Just a few more minutes.”

They stayed until the sun hid just behind the trees.

* * *

Emma tiptoed softly into the room, the small bouque of flowers feeling so inadeqate in her hand, the little box under her coat the only thing she’d really wanted to bring anyway, not that the staff would allow it.  He was sleeping in the bed, monitors beeping as he they tracked his pulse, his blood pressure, so many other things she didn’t even understand.

Liam was slumped in a chair, also asleep, his face drawn, beard longer than she remembered, the two brothers looking so much older than the last time she’d seen them both.  Then again, it _had_  been nearly ten years since they shared a foster home.  It was a complete accident she’d heard about Killian, happened to be in town, and what happened to him, and she knew she had to come visit.

“Swan?” a voice said in a rasping whisper.  “Is that you?”

She turned to the bed, to the grown up little boy she’d missed for so many years, the one saviour she’d ever had in her time in the system, the one friend who had always been there for her.

It was her turn to be there for him, now.

“Yeah,” she grinned.  “Did you miss me?”  She slid closer to the bed, raising an eyebrow for permission before sitting at his side, careful not to jostle him too much.  “How are you, Killian?”

He grinned, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Been better,” he murmured, so weakly, so unlike the scrappy boy who’d protected her from bullies, who taught her to fight, helped with her math homework, who always had so much patience for everything when it came to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

“You’re here now.”  He tilted his head slightly.  “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she said, a lump growing in her throat.  She swallowed hard, hiding the tears that threatened to spill out of reflex, not because she actually was afraid to be emotional in front of him.  Never in front of Killian.

“Brought you something,” she said.

“I can see,” he nodded toward the bright bouquet.

“What?  Oh, yeah, no,” she grinned, dropping the flowers across his lap, ignoring his heavily-bandaged forearm that rested just on the other side of the bed.  “Something else.”

Emma reached under her coat and drew out the small plastic container she’d managed to sneak past the guard nurses.  Holding it steady so it didn’t slosh too badly, she passed it over to Killian, who smiled brightly as he took it and rested it on his blanketed lap.  The tiny frog sat on a rock twice as big as it, a few twigs and leaves floating in the small amount of water she’d deemed safe to transport it in.

“Swan,” he breathed, eyes fixed on the little terrarium.

“His name’s Hoppy,” she said softly.  “Original, I know  I’ve had frogs ever since I got out of the system and I’ve pretty much run out of clever names.  They’re easy to take care of, don’t make too much noise, and I’m much better at catching them now.”

He looked back up at her, tears shining in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered.  “I didn’t think you even remembered.”

“How could I forget my best friend?” she said, meeting the intensity of his gaze.  “Anyway, I’m in town for a while, looking into a job here.  I could come back and check on you tomorrow, sneak Hoppy back in, if that’s okay?”

Killian nodded.  “Of course.  Come whenever you want.”  He put down the terrarium and reached out his one remaining hand, which she took in both of hers.  “I really did miss you, Emma.  I always wondered if you made it through okay, where you ended up.”

“I ended up here,” she said, the lump back, thickening her words ever so slightly, “right where I belong.”


	60. Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from icecubelotr44 for CS + broken.

* * *

“I have no idea who did it.”

Killian stood with his arms folded over his chest, refusing to look her in the eye.

“You do know I still have my superpower, right?” Emma asked, circling him.  He avoided her gaze, arms still crossed.

“I know,” he answered curtly.  “Not gonna help you.  I have no idea who did it.”

“So you said already.”  She leaned on the counter across from him, studying him.

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink, but he still refused to meet her eyes.

“There are so many creative ways of getting you to talk, you know.  I personally know some… sensitive areas that might loosen your tongue.”

He gulped, but didn’t say a word.

“I’m sure we can…” she pushed off the counter and leaned closer to him, her hands rubbing up and down his sides slowly, soothingly, as he continued to avoid her eyes, “find some way to get you to tell me what I want to know.”

Her hands wandered up his chest, spreading flat against his shoulders and slid down his arms.  Killian flinced as her hands drifted lower, fingers lingering over his belly.  But he remained quiet.

“Killian,” she murmured, leaning forward to whisper right into his ear.  “We don’t have to do this the hard way.  You could just tell me.”

She could hear the way he swallowed hard, felt him tense beneath her hands.  She dragged her palms across his stomach to his sides once more, her fingers resting just at the top of his pants.  He gasped quietly, a quick intake of breath she might have missed if she wasn’t paying _close_  attention.

“Just tell me,” she whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his skin.  “Who broke my laser tag record?”

Immediately, she dug her fingers into the soft skin at his sides, wiggling them back and forth as he finally broke, his body squirming to escape her touch, laughter escaping his mouth though he tried _so_  hard to hold back.

“Swan, please!” he cried, as her hands moved higher, just under his ribs, fingering just the right areas she knew he was most ticklish.  “I promised!  Please!”

“Tell me!”

He was wheezing now, tears streaming down his face as he slid down onto the tile floor of the kitchen, her fingers still tickling across his sides and chest.  “FINE!  It was your father!  But you didn’t hear it from me!”

She stopped, leaned forward, and planted a kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you, Killian.  Now why did that have to be so difficult?”

Before she could stand, he reached out and grabbed around her waist, pulling her down beside her, his hand tickling _her._ She squealed with laughter until he broke it off with a long kiss.

“You’d break under such torture just as fast, Swan,” he said with a grin.  “But really, don’t tell David I said anything, he’ll probably lock me in the brig.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she replied breathlessly.  “But you do know that now I have to go break _his_  record, right?”

He kissed her again.  “Of course, Swan.  You wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	61. Kings and Kindred Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just rewatched Killian and David's fight scene from the season 4 finale. And I had feelings.

They sit on the back porch, cool bottles held in their hands, glass coated in moisture from the heat of the evening air, the muted sounds of the girls the kitchen - talking, laughing - drifting out to the yard around them.  Killian takes a long pull from his drink, an easy silence nestled comfortably between his chair and David’s.  The end of summer draws to a close, the fireflies not quite as numerous as they had been, songs of crickets quieter, a slight chill in the air with each gentle puff it breathes across the world.

“Henry seems pretty excited to start high school next week,” David says, his gaze somewhere out in the distance.

Killian takes another sip.  “Aye.  The lad’s been dragging both of us on supply runs.  Why he needs so much glue is beyond me.”

David laughs, raising his bottle to his lips.  “He’ll get over it soon enough.  I think.  Not like any of us have experience with high school, besides for Emma.”

A heaviness rests in Killian’s belly as he nods slowly, a weight that seems to settle on David as well.  “It’s good she knows her way around this world,” Killian says gently.  “You gave her that.”

The other man is quiet, but Killian knows he shouldn’t be.  He came back, despite all he’d missed.  He came back, and he is doing his best to be here for her now.

“I was just thinking,” David says finally, the bottle held loosely in both hands as he watches it twist in his fingers.

“Never a good sign, mate,” Killian replies with a light smile.

David flashes him a grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “I was thinking about back in Isaac’s world, when we fought, when we didn’t know who we were.”

Killian watches as David looks back down at his hands.  “I’ve already forgiven you, mate,” he murmurs.  “No need to beat yourself up about it.”

“Not that.”

The quiet falls around them again, thick in the spaces between the crickets and the rustling of leaves from the wind.  Killian waits.

“Emma… she begged us to remember who we were, just before.  She tried to talk to us, to convince us, you know?”  David glances up and Killian nods slowly, taking a sip of his beer so he has something to do.  “We didn’t remember, we didn’t even _try_.  But somehow she still had you on her side, despite whatever Gold and the Author did to your memories.”

Killian doesn’t want to remember, the false history planted in his mind not entirely the same as the real one, but not different enough for him to be able to separate, some nights.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he offers.  “You didn’t even have your heart.”

“Yeah,” David laughs quietly, without humour.  “Yeah.”  

He looks up, looks at Killian, with an intensity Killian had rarely seen from him, and a sadness, but also something else, something Killian doesn’t have enough experience with to think himself worthy.

“But she had _you_ ,” Emma’s father says.  “I asked if saving her was worth your life.  I’m her _father_ and those words came out of my mouth.  I would do anything for her, Killian.  I’m pretty sure I almost died for her when she was a baby.  But at that moment, I…  I had no idea.

“And then you… without your memories, without any of what makes you, _you_.  You held that sword to fight, you were shaking so hard I thought - I _hoped_ \- you’d drop it.  And you said, ‘I’m willing to find out.’”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, the amber liquid in his bottle offering no words that make sense.  He waits.

David shakes his head, and when he looks back up, there are tears in his eyes.

“I’m glad she has you, Killian,” he says simply, with a little shrug and a pull from his beer.

Killian’s breath rushes out of him in a quiet puff.  After everything, all he’d done to this family, and then later, for them, he’s still not sure the latter outweighed the former.  But he nods, raising his bottle and offering a half-smile to the prince.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words thick in his mouth.

David nods and sits back.  Killian settles in his chair, bottle clenched tightly in his hand, the sounds of her family, _his_ family, drifting from somewhere deep inside the house, as the comfortable silence tucks itself once more around them.


	62. Elephants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from mossandmushroom for Jones brothers + elephants. This actually turned into a three-part series, part two is **[here](http://mossandmushroom.tumblr.com/post/149115132156/tally)** , part three **[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6200509/chapters/17837506)**.

“What is that?” Killian gasped in awe, his neck craning to look up at the large beast beside him as they passed through the marketplace.

“I… I think it’s an elephant,” Liam replied.  Killian looked at his brother quickly.  Liam always knew _everything_ , this must be something truly mysterious for him to only have a guess.

“Like in the book we ha-”

Liam’s small hand clamped over his mouth quickly.  “Shh, don’t talk about it out loud, the rest of the crew might hear us.”

Killian looked around quickly, spotting the large crew member assigned to watching them on this excursion into town.  The man scowled at his two charges, frankly unimpressed with keeping an eye on the little boys who weren’t much more than bilge rats to him, as he finished negotiations with the fruit vendor.  Liam slid closer to the man, to get him to calm down, prove they weren’t running away.

Killian turned his attention on the enormous animal instead.  It _exuded_  power, raw force, just sheer strength, and Killian found himself craving a chance to go nearer to the beast, to touch it, to see if he could feel the power thrumming through its flesh.  He stepped closer hesitantly, his hand outstretched to just below the elephant’s knee, when he saw something that made him stop.

A chain, thick and heavy, was wrapped tightly around the animal’s rear leg, tied off to a thick post just beyond it.  The magnificent elephant was trapped, caged, owned by someone else.

Just like him and Liam.

For a moment, Killian saw red, he was so _angry_.  An animal like that shouldn’t be tied up, he thought wildly, and he half wanted to sneak under the elephant and find a way to unchain its leg, set it free to rampage and let loose on the unsuspecting marketplace.  But he knew what trouble he’d be in, knew how upset Liam would be, not to mention the crew, and probably even the captain, and he couldn’t take that risk, not after he promised his brother to stop picking fights with anyone and everyone, not after the memories of his last punishment was still so fresh in his mind.

Still, his heart broke for the elephant, trapped just as surely as he was, confined to the whims of some other owner, some other master than himself.  He reached out his small hand, tentatively touched the thick skin - rough and warm against his palm.

The elephant spun his mighty head toward him and, for a moment, Killian thought it would bellow in rage, strike at him with its mighty trunk, grab him from the ground and toss him in the air.  He stepped back, his hands out in surrender, hoping the elephant would understand he didn’t mean any harm.

To his shock, the elephant only watched him, its large dark eyes watery as they met his own.  The thick trunk swung slowly closer to him, and Killian couldn’t help but flinch as it drew nearer.  But the great beast only tapped him with its trunk, the surprisingly soft skin gentle as it touched his hand, long hairs tickling his arm.

He couldn’t help grinning, his hand rubbing across the elephant’s trunk with soft strokes, and he almost swore the large animal smiled back at him.  Maybe the elephant knew how alike they were, how much the same they were despite their differences.

“Oi, you lads!” called the ship’s bosun, a thick fist grabbing his collar and pulling him back, away from the elephant.  “Cap’n needs you alive, though ‘ell if I know why.  Stay back from that damned beast, will ya?”

Liam reached for his hand just then, tugging him gently forward through the marketplace.  “Let’s go, brother.  We don’t want to get them mad.”

As they made their way back toward the ship, Killian couldn’t help turning around once more, to wave to the elephant chained at the end of the lane.

And he swore the elephant raised its trunk in a wave as well.


	63. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of [THIS](http://nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable.tumblr.com/post/148619291330/jones-brothers-elephants-d-or-oliphaunts-if), and then [THIS](http://mossandmushroom.tumblr.com/post/149115132156/tally). 
> 
> I had to.

It starts with a trip to the zoo.

He’d been to them before, in other lands, other worlds.  Cages too small for the beasts they contained, the smell of rot and filth, chains tethering the creatures in place so others can gawk at their marvels.  He hated the zoos he’s chanced upon in his travels, it never failed to put him in a dark mood.  Especially after _her_.

But Emma asks to go, and he can’t tell her no.

This one is unlike any he’s been to.  The animals are fenced in great open areas, grass and trees and sky around them.  It’s a rehabilitation centre, Emma explains, her hand in his as she leads him through the park.  For animals found wounded in the wild, nursed back to health, eventually released back to their homes, if they can.

He marvels over the familiar animals and those he’d never seen before, as free as they can be in this temporary sanctuary.  The monkeys, chittering as they swing from rope to tree, giraffes craning to reach the highest leaves, even alligators, in pits with glass windows so all can see them swim.

He stops short at the far exhibit, a sharp intake of breath he can’t quite catch, and she notices his hesitation.

“Killian?” she asks, hand on his arm.  “You okay?”

He nods wordlessly, stepping closer to the wide enclosure.  Elephants - three adults and one small calf - lumber through the open field, splashing heavily through the puddles from last night’s rain.  He hasn’t seen one in nearly a hundred years, but the sight still renders him as speechless as the first time.  He watches as the little one rushes to catch up to the herd, its trunk wrapping protectively around an adult’s thin tail.

He feels the familiar prick of tears filling his eyes, hastily blinking before she can see.

But she doesn’t need to see.  “What’s wrong?”

He swallows.  “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen elephants, love,” he mumbles, pushing a grin.  “Certainly not so many in one place, not a… a family.”  He turns back to watch the beasts before the lump in his throat betrays him.

She leans against his side, fingers entwined in his, and they watch the great animals.

“We have to go, they’re closing soon,” she murmurs gently after a time.  He nods.  With a final glance back, he lets her lead him home.

He doesn’t think seeing the elephants affected him too much, doesn’t think about it at all.  Not until much later in the night, lying in bed together, blonde hair fanned across his chest, her hands tracing spirals along his skin.  She’s mumbling something, her lips moving almost silently as gentle fingers trip up and down his side, underneath his back.

“What are you saying, love?” he asks, memories of darker hair and sad blue eyes floating just below the surface where he needs them to stay.

“Nothing,” she whispers, fingers still moving.  “Just counting the lines I can feel.”

He tenses, the waves breaking over him.  She feels it.

“I don’t mind, you know,” she adds hurriedly, always quick to comfort him, always ready to wipe away his insecurity with her acceptance of everything he’s been, everything he is now.  “Your scars are a part of you, and I’m a fan of every part of you.”

He smiles in the dark at his words thrown back at him, and he can feel her smile against his skin.

“You’ve been upset since the zoo earlier,” she murmurs quietly perceptive as always.  He feels the curve of her lips turning down in a frown.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He lets out a slow breath, watching as her head dips with the fall of his chest.  And he tells her, of slave markets and elephants, of stories told in scars and the woman who counted them.  There in the dark, where gentle hands soothe old wounds, he tells her, of children raised in servitude, who traded one master for another, never free, always a slave.

“Until you,” he whispers, her hands both resting over his beating heart.  “Until you gave me a chance, to make my own choices, to stand on my own two feet.  You gave me freedom, you helped me truly live.”

He cups her cheek with his palm, feels her sad smile on his skin.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

As she rests her head against his chest once more, he doesn’t need to count her breaths as she falls asleep, just runs his fingers through her hair, and breathes.


	64. Do it Right This Time Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian asks Emma to give him a haircut. Set between 5x22 and 6x01, no real spoilers.

His hand’s in hers, tugging her out the door.  They’d only just entered the bustling diner, and she knows he’s not comfortable, knows he’s still reeling from everything over the last day, week,  _ months _ .  She has so much to deal with also, but she pushes it away, makes it wait until she can focus properly.

Right now, he needs her more.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, scissors in hand as he sits on the kitchen chair.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet since they left the diner, the walk home hand in hand pleasant but silent.  Not that she’s certain they need words, at least not for a while.  It’s almost as if the silence is a dam, holding back the weight of everything threatening to crash over both of them if they start talking.

It’s easier like this, she thinks.  He seems to agree.

She holds the comb in one hand, brushing the back of his hair with it, the scissors close behind as she makes the first cut, just a little one, on his right side.  Dark, straight hair falls to the wooden floor noiselessly.  Another brush with the comb, another snick of the blades, more hair on the floor.

But when she positions the scissors behind the comb on his left side, her hand shakes, her fingers trembling in their grasp on the small silver blades.  It’s too close to his neck, too close to where...

“Please, Emma,” he says quietly, not facing her but he knows, he always does.  “Just get rid of it.”

She takes a breath, and then another, but the tremors don’t let up.  “I could use my-”

“No,” he says, a little too fast, a little too hard.  He amends gently, “No more magic.  Not for this.  Please.”

She nods, though he can’t see her.  Clenches her fist, straightens her fingers, and makes the cut.  The nearly-black locks of hair on the floor seems appropriate, in a way, cutting away his darkness so they can sweep it up later, get rid of it for good.

If only the memories were this easy to cut away.

It doesn’t take so long, she warned him that she’s no expert at this.  He doesn’t care, ignores her protests.

“I just want it gone,” he murmurs, so quietly she almost can’t hear him over the slice of the scissors.

It’s done.  She puts down the shears, combs his hair the way she knows he prefers - part on the left, nothing fancy.  She smiles as she does.  It’s so normal, so... calming, brushing his hair in the home she wants to share with him.

“Finished,” she says, patting his shoulder.

She pretends not to notice when he wipes his arm across his face before turning around, pretends not to see how red his eyes are, pretends to ignore the shudder that visibly shakes him when he sees the pile of dark hair on the floor.

“Do you want to go back?” she asks, waving her arm in the vague direction of the diner.  “There’s probably still some food left.”

But she knows his answer before she finishes asking, and she can’t pretend she doesn’t see the way his eyes rake over her, the intensity, the sorrow, the love and longing in them that she’s sure are mirrored in her own.  He reaches for her, and she’s stepping into his arms, his warmth more comforting than words could ever be.

“Can we just...” he starts, his breath puffing across her cheek, past her ear, as he buries his face in her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she murmurs quietly, her fingers threading lightly through his shorter hair.  “Yeah.”

She’s not sure how long they stand there, too wrapped up in each other’s heartbeats to notice much else.  It doesn’t really matter, now.

They’ll sweep the floor later.


	65. Angst-Fest #1: Cotton Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @the-captains-ayebrows said: Cotton candy? That’s as sweet and fluffy as I can think of.

_(fun fact - cotton candy was invented in 1897 by dentists, and it debuted at the 1904 World’s Fair for public consumption, originally called “fairy floss”, but there are reports of a similar spun-sugar product available as early as the 15th century in Italy)_

The children race past, their tongues almost hanging out as they head to the confectioner’s shop.  Killian hears whispers of a new candy, something called fairy floss.  Curious as ever, he slips away from his crew in the crowded market and follows the boys.

The sweet smell of sugar hits his nose, something he instinctively knows, though he hasn’t tasted, not in so many years, not since Mama-

No, it wouldn’t do to think of his mother, not now, not in front of the other children, who are ogling through the window.  He finds a spot beside another boy and presses his face to the glass.

Fairy floss.  There is no other word for it.  The fine, delicate strands of the candy wrapping majestically around a wooden stick.  It almost looks like a cloud, and Killian wants to reach out and touch it.  The confectioner stops in his work, looks at the children gazing longingly through the window, and smiles to them, waving them in.

The little boys and girls race through the door to taste the new delicacy.  All of them, but Killian.  He can’t go in, he’s wandered too far from Liam’s side as it is, and besides, he’s not allowed treats like this, has no money to pay for anything.  He stays at the window, watching the other children grab small bits and popping them into their mouths.  The wide grins on their faces makes his mouth water, but he doesn’t move from his spot.

The kindly confectioner notices him, motions for him to enter, but he only shakes his head slowly.  The man holds a pinch of the mysterious candy in his hand as he comes to the door, offering the little morsel.

“Take it, lad,” he says softly.  Killian hesitates.  He wants it, he wants to taste it, wants to join in the fun of the other children.  But if he’s caught…

He grabs the small bite of candy fluff and shoves it into his mouth.  He barely tastes it, the fine strands of sugar melting almost instantly on his tongue.  It’s delicious, it’s wonderful.

It’s forbidden.

“Oi!  Get back here!”  The bosun.  Killian’s knees tremble, swallowing hard to rid the candy from his mouth as fast as he can.  The candy man gives him a sad smile and returns to his shop.

The bosun grabs Killian around the neck, dragging him back to the fruit stall.  “What’d ye steal, ye brat?” he shouts, shaking Killian hard.

He can’t answer, his mouth dry, the taste of the candy long gone, replaced with fear.  But the bosun doesn’t like to be ignored, and Killian knows to expect the fist to his gut, he knows, but can’t prepare himself on time for the force of the blow.  He retches, the air in his lungs forced out in a huff.  The large man tosses him to the ground as Killian vomits up the small morsel of food he had that morning, the little bit of water, and the sweet and sour taste of melted sugar.

Tears come to his eyes, from exertion or loss of the treat, he doesn’t know, but he refuses to let them fall.  He wipes his hand across his mouth, stands, and takes a slow and shaky breath.

The smell of candy is still in the air, drifting across the market from the small shop nearby, but Killian tries his hardest to ignore it, and stay with his crew as they finish with their purchases.


	66. Angst-Fest #2: Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @superchocovian said: Oh, god. I would love to see this! I’d rather not feel the angst, but I do want to see this. How about…suit??

He touches the fine fabric of the new suit, careful not to get dirt on the cloth.  Papa just brought it home, his face beaming as he showed off the fine new outfit he’d wear.

“It’s important to dress well, Killian,” he said, ruffling his hand through Killian’s dark hair, “so others don’t try to take advantage of you.  Stand tall, wear a fine suit, and you’re no one to be trifled with.”

“Can I have a suit like this, Papa?” he asked, eyes wide as he stares up at his Papa.  So big, his papa, a real man.  He has so much growing to do if he ever hopes to catch up.

Papa laughs.  “One day, I’m sure you will.”

It’s only years later, the night that Papa leaves them all alone, that he learns the truth.  He hides behind Liam the in small cabin, the large crew members of the ship rifling through the meager belongings they brought on board.  They find Papa’s suit in one of the bags, the suit he always wore when he went into town.

“What’s a thief like ‘im doin’ wit’ this ‘ere suit?” one of the men laughs viciously.

The other reaches for it, drapes the jacket over his shoulders.  “Probably stole it, coward that ‘e is.  Ain’t got no need fer it now, eh?”  With a grunt, he bends forward, carelessly splitting the fine fabric down the seam.

Killian feels the last bits of hope sink down inside him, falling past his stomach, his knees, dripping onto the floor where no one will ever find it.  A thief.  Papa couldn’t have stolen the suit… could he?  He’d been so proud to be just like him, and the fierce anger that fills Killian’s gut takes hold in all the places hope and joy and love used to be.

He never wants to wear a suit like Papa ever in his life.

* * *

Killian pulls out the long leather duster from the bin, the fabric sweeping the floor as he holds it.  He’d salvaged the clothes off a wrecked ship limping at sea, the fact that he was the one who’d put the twelve cannonball-sized holes below her waterline was hardly worth mentioning.  Most of the articles of clothing were too large for him - Killian could hardly be considered short, but he was slight across his shoulders.

He shrugs into the duster, the leather swishing against his knees.  He feels himself straighten imperceptibly against the weight of it.  Coat like this, no one will ever trifle with him again.

He grabs the bottle of rum from the table and takes a long pull before he can hear the inevitable voice of the man who’d said those words to him all those lifetimes ago.


	67. Angst-Fest #3: Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lavoyageuse21 asked: Challenge accepted! Word: Fluff. :)
> 
> _(almost too easy)_

 

It’s nearly two weeks in the strange realm before he finally allows himself to collapse on his bed, the bed he’d so recently shared with _her_.  They’re anchored just off the edge of the island, the forbidden jungle ominous in the dark.  It’s quiet here, too quiet, the crew’s unsettled and wish for some noise, though they’re loathe to make it themselves.  It feels almost like waiting, and Killian hates waiting.

He closes his eyes, his arm stretched across his forehead, and tries to get some sleep.  He’s spent the better part of the last twelve days on deck, or catching quick naps in between scouting parties along the beach.  He’s not even sure what he’s looking for, the Crocodile’s weakness surely isn’t found on some miserably, forgotten plot of land smack in the middle of nowhere.  He wants to find more Dreamshade, to create his own brand of the poison, something stronger and far more potent than the branch that killed his brother all those years ago.

Killian doesn’t know how long he sleeps, it’s still night when he opens his eyes again and he doesn’t feel the least bit refreshed.  He reaches out an arm to pull himself up - there’s still work to do, despite his exhaustion.  A ripping sound catches his attention and he looks down.

His arm’s caught in a pillow at his side, the hook he still hasn’t gotten used to lodged firmly in the centre of it.  With an angry grunt, he yanks the pillow off the metal appendage, but the fabric rips even more, white fluff pouring out across the bed.

It’s only then that he recognises the specific pillow.  The one _she_  made, when she first found out about her condition, the first thing she wanted to make for the little one that would have stretched out her belly and brightened her smile and filled up the little family he never thought he could have.  Would never have, now.

With a roar, he grasps the hook in his right hand, _rips_  it off his arm, still attached to the brace, ignoring how the thick leather rubs against the bandages wrapped around the blunted end of his arm underneath.  He ignores the flash of pain threatening to make him see stars, ignores the bright dots of red starting to bleed through the white cloth on his wrist.  He _hurls_  the hook across the room, where it crashes against the door and clatters loudly to the floor.

His head drops to his chest, the weariness, the loss, the pain, too much for him to hold back now.  His vision blurring, he gathers up the small pile of fluff once housed inside the pillow she’d embroidered for them.  Tears, hot and wet and full of all the sorrow he hadn’t let himself feel until now, spill down his cheeks, dripping onto the remains of the pillow, the tattered ruins of the family he clearly wasn’t allowed to have.


	68. Angst-Fest #4: Grapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @killian-whump asked: GRAPES
> 
> _(warning: violence below)_

 

The sound of screaming was all around him, and Killian was certain he was going to die.

This wasn’t what it was supposed to be, this wasn’t how the Navy was meant to be.  Where were the noble voyages, the exaulted missions, the glory?  Instead, he was soaked with sweat, covered in other people’s blood, his sword almost falling from his fingers as smoke filled his eyes and mouth, pained groans and cries filled his ears.

A whistling shot overhead, and he knew what it meant, he knew, but he couldn’t move.  The volley of grapeshot flew across the deck, tearing holes through sails and bodies alike without any extra effort.  Another midshipman, just two years younger than Killian, fell to the deck just feet away from him, fist-sized wounds speckling his chest.  He’d gotten hit with the brunt of the assault, he was dead before he hit the wooden planks.

Killian wanted to run, wanted to be back on land, wanted to be back in his cabin, in his hammock, at the academy, _anywhere_  but this chaos.  Liam should have been here, but he’d been called to attend to another ship, left suddenly without her Lieutenant, and Liam had been eager to take the job.  Killian’s ship wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of the war zone, he wasn’t supposed to be here, he wasn’t…

He wasn’t made for all this violence.

Another whistling noise, and he instinctively cowered behind the mainmast, hoping the rounds of lead couldn’t tear through the thick wooden pole.  More screams, more bodies falling around him, but Killian couldn’t hear it anymore, couldn’t hear anything, as he sank to the floor and tucked his head to his knees.


	69. Angst-Fest #5: Giggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @queen-mabs-revenge asked: I'm actually terrified rn: giggle

She loves his laugh.  She tells him so as she tickles under his chin, across his chest.  He giggles on her lap, writhing against the play attack.  She laughs too, hers light and musical and full of magic.  She plants a kiss on his forehead, pats his head, and sends him off to play with his brother.

The day they bury her under the twisting tree, he wonders if he’ll ever laugh again.

She loves his laugh.  She tells him so as she trips light fingers across his chest, across his ribs just under his arms, ignoring the lines of scars that cut across his skin at various intervals.  He laughs, her hands know exactly where his weakness is, wriggling deep into well-worked muscles.  She giggles as well, when he reaches for her, his fingers grazing the spot just beneath her ribs as she twists to avoid him, her smile bright and happy and full of hope.  With a deep sigh, he breathes in her hair, the laughter still echoing faintly in the small cabin.

He doesn’t laugh again for nearly two hundred years.


	70. Angst-Fest #6: Refrigerator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @killian-whump asked: REFRIGERATOR

“So how did you keep food fresh back then?” Henry asks, pulling in the line Killian had indicated earlier and wrapping it expertly around the cleat.

Killian shrugs.  “We didn’t.  Food went bad frequently.  We either ate it anyway, or went hungry.”

He doesn’t tell him of the times the older boys on the crew forced the weavil-filled, rotten food into his mouth for fun, held his mouth and nose closed until he swallowed, laughed as he gagged and cried and tried to get away.

He doesn’t tell him of the days he spent curled up on his bunk, shaking with fatigue after going without food for the third day in a row, his stomach clenching, painfully empty.

“Oh,” is all Henry says.

They work together wordlessly to tie up the ship, as they had so many times before.

“So you must really love refrigerators then, huh,” Henry asks with a grin, tossing his backpack over his shoulder as they head away from the docks.

Killian doesn’t tell him of the times he spent fearful that everything Emma bought that day would be gone the next day, rotten and full of bugs in the white box in the kitchen.

He doesn’t tell him of the times he lies awake at night, the sound of Henry’s snoring drifting in from down the hall, Emma’s light breathing beside him, wondering if having too much was scarier than having not enough.

Killian laughs instead, grateful that it feels sincere.  “Aye, lad.  They’re quite ingenious.”

Side by side, they walk home.


	71. Angst-Fest #7: Glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @katy-dub asked: Glitter? It's so pretty and sparkly and happy... I am kind of scared to see what you come back with (I did not say "puppy" for this exact reason.)

The first time Killian saw the shiny sparkles in the air, his mother was beside him, crouched low in the grass in the moonlight, her warm hand on his back.

“Hush, Killian,” she whispered, her voice full of mystery.  “Mustn’t scare them off, if you want to get a good look.”

He stayed as quiet as he could, his four-year old body itching to jump up and run closer to the faerie ring of mushrooms in the grass, where he and Mama had carefully laid out the tiny plate with a pinch of bread, the tiny thimble of honey beside it.  He can’t wait to see them, after all the stories Mama’s told him of the magical beings that flitter through the early morning dew.  Liam hadn’t been interested, had grumbled in his bed when Killian tried to wake him, so he and Mama set off alone to try and catch a glimpse of them together.

Killian slid his small hand into Mama’s, just as the first zip of light flashed through the air.  Another joined the first, then another, and another still, until the mushroom ring was filled with glittering sparkles of light, hovering over the tasty bit of food.  He wanted to jump up, to run toward them, to look at them closer, but Mama tugged at his hand, rubbing her long fingers across his, calming him.

“Just watch,” she murmured.  He looked at them closely, memorising how they flew, the shimmering of their wings against the glitter of their magic, the small sounds he could almost hear.  He watched, together with Mama, until the small faeries began to depart, their treat consumed, the magic fading as the last of them flew off into the growing dawn.

“Can we come back again sometime, Mama?” he asked quietly when the last one was gone.

She nodded, smiling down at him with the faintest hint of sadness at the edge of her mouth.  “Of course, my love.”

* * *

The second time Killian saw them was the night they came to take his Mama from him.  Her strength had been fading, faster than either he or Liam could keep up.  He wanted Father to be here, he wanted _someone_  to come help them, but they were alone - two little boys and their dying mama.

At first, he thought the faeries came to work their magic on his mama, to heal her, cure her, bring her back to the strong woman he knew so well.  But they had other plans.

“She’s to come with us now, lad,” the tiny voice said, the faerie so small she could almost not be seen inside the cloud of glitter and sparkles that surrounded her.  “She needs to come home.”

“She _IS_  home!” he cried, barring the door with all his might.  “She’s _already_  home!”

But they didn’t listen, they found a way in, found their way to his mama, and he couldn’t get close enough to knock them away.  In a moment, it was over, the shimmering wings disappearing through the open window, Mama’s face pale and wan and fading fast.

Killian held her hand, rubbing his small fingers across hers, and cried.

* * *

The third time Killian saw the familiar sparkles, his first instinct was the smash the small beasts like mosquitoes.  He knew them, now, knew how much he owed them for the ordeal they went through inside the hat.  He clenched his fist tightly against the wooden bench and did nothing.

But Emma noticed the way he stiffened, he couldn’t hide much from her, and he didn’t really want to, either.  She held his arm as the faeries approached, three of them, shining and glittering as they had so many centuries ago, when he’d been so naive and they’d taken his gift and his mama.

“She was one of us,” the first one explained.  “It was her time.  You deserve to know that, now.”

He didn’t say a word, only reached for Emma’s hand with his.

“You’re one of us, too,” the second added quietly, as if he hadn’t already figured that part out.  “As will be the little one.”

This startled him.  He glanced at Emma, who smiled at him somewhat sadly.  “I thought they might know more about her,” she said.  “I didn’t tell them, they already knew.”

“We can tell you about her, and what you’ll need to know when the baby comes,” said the third.  “But even we can’t predict exactly how faerie magic mixes with one born from True Love.”

He finally nodded, his fist relaxing against Emma’s, her fingers rubbing across his, calming him, as always.  The faeries stayed, and told Killian everything about his mother.


	72. Angst-Fest #8: Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kind of challenged myself to take any word/concept/person/prompt and connect it - canon-compliant - to Killian Jones in the most angsty way I could think of. There be angst ahead, ye be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @annytecture asked: MATE
> 
>  
> 
> _(This is a snippet from a hopefully-forthcoming chapter of[Silent Screams](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6939919), co-written by the amazing @icecubelotr44 (who rocks at angst, don’t let her kitten fics fool you).  Mentions of excessive child abuse below.)_

 

“He was my friend!” Killian screamed, tears streaming down his face, but he ignored them, ignored Liam’s hands at his arms pulling him back.  He didn’t care, he didn’t care anymore, he didn’t care what would happen to him, how could he?  It was all worthless, everything they did, everything _he_  did, didn’t change the fact that they were nothing, objects, property, to be used and discarded at will.

All the anger, all the hate, all the fear and exhaustion and pain from years of servitude, years of being under someone else’s rule, came bursting forth just then, and Killian didn’t want to hold any of it back.  He wrenched out of Liam’s grasp, hurtled forward across the room to the larger man, his small fists raining ineffective blows across the bosun’s chest, arms, whatever he could reach.

“He was my friend!” Killian cried.  “You killed him!  You killed him!”

The bosun finally reacted, his huge hand backhanding Killian across the face,  Killian nearly  _flew_  across the room, his ears ringing, but he was up in a moment, stepping forward to hit the man again.  He could vaguely hear Liam call out to him, but he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want to.

“ _You killed him!”_ he screamed, taking another step closer, all traces of fear gone.  “He was my friend, and you murdered him.”

This time, he saw the man’s fist aimed at his head, but he couldn’t move in time.  He fell back against the wall, stars bursting behind his eyes as blood streamed from his nose.  The bosun came close, reached down and grabbed Killian around the throat, lifting him to his feet.

Killian gasped for air, his fingers grabbing at the large fist at his neck, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, the rage still burning through him.

“Sixty lashes for ye, boy,” the bosun snarled, his face only inches from Killian’s.  “Say goodbye to yer mate and get on deck.”

He tossed Killian to the floor and walked out.


	73. Finally Home

He doesn’t wait until she closes the door to the house.

She doesn’t want him to.

He captures her lips with his, his mouth warm, hot,  _ alive _ .  She pulls him closer, her hands tugging at his neck, on his head, anywhere she can reach without moving away.  Her fingers sift through his hair as she kisses him back, their noses pressed, her body flush against his as he traps her against the wall.  She lets out a small noise and he  _ groans _ into her mouth, and she wants him, needs him, needs this.

“Upstairs,” she manages to gasp out when they come up for air, foreheads pushed together, their breath mingling in the space between them.

“Not yet,” he murmurs back, and he surges forward once more.  His hand runs up her back, hook at her hip, holding her closer, closer, forever closer.

How they manage to stumble to the living room, she doesn’t really know, but she’s pulling him with her, their mouths never far, unwilling to part for even a moment.  Her legs hit the couch, and she’s falling back, and he’s following her, always with her, always, now and for as long as she can have him.

His hand is behind her head and he’s laying her back, stretched out on the couch in the house that he picked for their home.  Her magic hums beneath her skin, seems to sing with every move of their lips, every touch of his hand under her coat, every shift of his body over hers.

_ Home, home, home. _

Tears fill her eyes, and she doesn’t know why, can’t imagine why, when she has everything right here, everything she never thought she’d have.  His body hard against her, hand gently stroking her hair.  He kisses her as if he’d never had a chance before, before, when he was gone and she was here, all alone, all alone.

She gasps quietly, the memories rushing through her, the pain, the loneliness, the  _ longing _ , and he pulls back.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, his eyes wide as he looks at her, as if scared she’ll break in his arms, as if she already has, as if he can’t bear to see her shatter further.  He knows her, he knows, he always knows.

Tears shine in his eyes as well.

_ Home, home, home. _

“Kiss me again,” she begs, her hand at his arm, tugging, pulling, holding on.

He does.


	74. coming home with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character thoughts of the Killian Jones variety from 6x01

He knows.  He’s been here before, seen the look in her eyes, seen her walls slam sky-high.  Fear of not being enough, fear of not being good enough, fear of something she doesn’t want to name.  She wants to be alone, doesn’t want to be alone, doesn’t know where to turn, so she doesn’t turn anywhere.  After everything they’ve been through, everything they suffered - together, apart, together again - it hurts.  Hurts that she doesn’t open up to him, that she can’t escape the demons of her heart.

He knows.  He’s been there before, too.  It hurts, but he understands, he’s done the same to her.  Held onto his pain, hid it from her, from everyone, afraid of his weakness, ashamed of his fear.  He doesn’t want her to be alone, in all the ways he knows she is, but he can’t push, can’t fight through the barriers she’s built.  It’s not what she needs, anyway, and he knows that, too.

He knows.  Hands, it’s always hands.  His, when he got it back, his old anger, his old demons, coursing through his body from fingers he’d almost forgotten.  His, when he broke through the Crocodile’s hold on his heart, reaching out to grab her arm, holding tight and never letting go.   He wants her to do the same with him, wants her to know she can always hold onto him, no matter how stormy the seas.

He knows.  He sees the trembling in her fingers, how she tries to hold herself steady, always steady, dependable, true.  She’s been his compass, his direction when tempests hit, helping him find his way through the swells and crash of waves.  He can be her anchor now, steadying her, holding her in place, giving her a ground to stand on, stand strong.

He knows.  She’s hiding something from him, something haunting in her eyes.  He wants to ask, needs to ask, _can’t_ ask, not after everything, not with their lives so tenuously rebuilt, not with so much else to do.  There’s always work, always others, everyone but herself.  He longs to stop the world, freeze time, take away the distractions and help her focus, find her centre, breathe.

So he stays.  He waits beside her, steady and firm, gives her what she needs and tries not to take.  He gathers the moments, counts them, treasures them, lets her know how much he loves them - her, her, always her.  He does what he can, reminds her he’s there, offers her all of himself if she asks.

Because one day she’ll know, too.


End file.
